Black & White
by AceMate
Summary: Years later, Bruce Wayne is given a second chance to atone for his failures of Arkham City. Can his son and his amnesiac ward, Jospehine, be the answer to everything? Or will the secret of her life be enough to drive her over the edge? The truth will out.
1. Then & Now

**My beautiful readers! I have returned, and on a different page! I've lied to you...But it is in a good way. I said I would post my first chapter in April and here it is…the last day of March….so that makes it better! **

** As many of you may know, I post my chapters every Saturday night. Sometimes I post mid-week as well. So, you can look forward to that. **

** I hope you enjoy this project. I'm very proud of it. Here it goes…**

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><p><strong>Christmas Eve 2021<strong>

_ "Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail…"_

Josephine read the passage with the fervor and charm of a Julliard scholar. The words breathed out like a melody that one could not do anything about but stop and listen. Images procured themselves from her words. Ebenezer, Marley, the fireplaces, the chains….

"…_the mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts, than there would be in any other middle-aged gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy spot - say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance - literally to astonish his son's weak mind…"_

Alfred was her audience tonight. He dusted the shelves one last time before the master would come home after his long journey. Everything needed to be in place. He would notice, but he would not say anything. Alfred was accustomed to this trait. After decades of service to the Wayne family, his ways were fixed. It was only with the arrival of Josephine that the home had become topsy-turvy.

Bruce Wayne's little ward of nine sat in her chair, one of Master Bruce's ties wrapped around her head.

She recited more of the passage.

"…_Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grindstone, Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping, clutching, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas…"_

"Alfred, I like this story. Why haven't we ever read it before?"

Her thinking aloud broke his cleaning ritual. "Master Wayne does not like to dawdle in the Christmas spirit for too long. He finds it distracts from his work."

"Christmas is what Bruce should find he has the most in common with. He does good works. Christmas is about charity and good will to men. He should be in the spirit more. Perhaps if I take him caroling? Do you think that might put him in good spirits?"

Alfred smiled as he dusted. "You never know."

She placed the book down.

"Maybe if we go after he gets back. Do you know he's giving me a Christmas present? I wonder what that is."

"I don't know, Miss Kane. Master Bruce should be home soon."

"I hope so. It's been so long waiting for him. I wish he would get here. I don't like for him to be gone so long on Christmas Eve, of all days."

"I miss him too, young miss."

He put away his cleaning and distracted her with little games they had found themselves playing for the three years she had been there. They passed the time with card games. Canasta was a favorite. Josephine was very talented at it. Although it was supposed to be more fun to play with three people, she had learned to enjoy only Alfred's company. On rare occasion, she could coax Bruce away from whatever he was doing to play a round but sadly tonight would be one she would have a new one.

Knock. Knock.

Josephine and Alfred glanced at each other simultaneously. She was curious and excited. His was a mix of curiosity and doubt. He smiled and quirked an eyebrow as he left the room to answer the door. The sounds of shuffling feet echoed as Bruce's voice echoed in the hall when Alfred greeted him.

"_Master Bruce, we've been waiting for so long. How was your journey?"_

"_Difficult Alfred, but under the circumstances, you may see the reason. Come here."_

"_Master Bruce is he-"_

"_Yes, Alfred."_

Josephine crept near the corner, ear pressed against the door. A visitor? There were hardly any visitors at Wayne Manor. Was this her Christmas present? She couldn't guess.

"Master Bruce, young master, come with me."

"Where is Josephine?"

"In the study, sir, should I go and fetch her, sir?"

"Not just yet, I might wait a little before-"

"Here I am!" Josephine bounded from her hiding place and unto Bruce. He froze for a moment with her arms wrapped around him, but returned the embrace somewhat unwillingly. "I'm so glad to see you, Bruce! You've been gone all this time and I hardly ever get to-"

She froze. Bruce stepped aside to reveal a boy around her age, maybe older. He was a queer little thing. His skin was olive, and foreign. His hair black and eyes the same. He stood as if he had a good deal of discipline and perhaps even a bit of abuse in his time.

_He is strange thing_, thought Josephine_, but he is interesting. Why is he here at Wayne Manor?_

"Josephine, this is my…son… Damian."

Josephine stood agape. She didn't know her guardian even had any children; apart from Dick Grayson and Tim Drake. But they weren't the type she was thinking. Bruce Wayne hadn't a child in the world. But here was this strange boy. She whipped her head towards Bruce.

"Is he my Christmas present?" She asked enthused.

Bruce worked his head side to side as he did whenever he couldn't make up his mind. "Yes, I suppose if that's what you want to call it. He can be your brother, if you'll think of it like that."

Josephine gazed back at Damian Wayne, who expression had not shifted from the indifferent scowl. She smiled at him. "He will be. I should like to have a brother. It's lonely here sometimes. I have Alfred, but maybe a brother will be nice."

She held out her hand to him. His eyes glanced down at it and back to her, still unchanged.

"Damian, shake hands with your new sister. This is Josephine."

Josephine stretched her arm farther. The boy was not encouraged. He still stared at her with his dark eyes. They stood for two moments before Bruce intervened.

"Damian, shake her hand."

"I will not," burst the youth, "I won't. She isn't worth her status."

"Damian…"

"Father, look at her! And she is supposed to be your daughter. Its isn't worth it."

He pushed past Josephine and ran up the stairs, leaving her in total confusion. She watched him go and felt the blow of rejection seep in. It was not something she cared too much to talk about. She stood there, feeling very lonely, in fact, much lonelier than ever claimed to feel before Mr. Damian Wayne's arrival.

"Damian! Damian, come back here!" Bruce made forth to go get him, bit Alfred held him off.

"Sir, that is not the way. Leave him be. He may come down again."

"That gives him no right to speak her mind like that." Bruce turned to his ward. "Josephine, I am so sorry for what he said. None of it is true." He pet her head, stroking the delicate strands in her long, brown hair. "You're not…unworthy."

"But why did he say those things? Why would he?"

"Listen, Damian comes from a line of very proud people. You mustn't take what he says to heart. It's not true. While he stays here, he will abide by the rules, but it will take time for him to completely surrender himself, understand?"

"Yes, I think so. But what about he said about being your daughter? Am I your daughter?"

"No, you are my ward. You are not my daughter. Don't ever associate yourself with that idea. You understand me?"

She nodded sadly. It was to be an epic battle raged throughout her story.

"Sir," Alfred stepped in, "why don't you go and speak to him? We will stay down here and enjoy some holiday cookies I made. Won't we Miss Josephine?"

She nodded, trying to be eager.

I'll be back in a few minutes, Alfred." Bruce disappeared up the stairs.

"Come, young miss," Alfred held her hand as he led her back to a warm fireside. But it was no hidden fact that Damian Wayne had dashed the holiday merriment for Josephine Kane. What is more, she could not understand his hidden hatred of her.

She would take the time to solve him, if it was the last thing she'd do.

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><p><strong>December 21, 2029<strong>

A train whistle echoed down the indoor outdoor corridor of the train station. Passengers shuffled off the platform in earnest attempt for relief of the crowded cars. The types of citizens entering and exiting the platform varied in color and dress. The elder car held the fur coated, snappy dressers of the city, whilst the baby car held the more middle class earth tone aficionados.

Fog enveloped the evening tracks as the last passengers left the train, tugging his luggage cart close behind. It click-clacked over the span of tiles as the owner walked alongside the train for the taxis.

Damian Wayne was stern and pained. His father, the famed Bruce Wayne had sent him away for criminality. Misconduct in the Wayne home was not easily forgotten but this particular incident was not one to phone authorities over. For some reason, his manner of feelings had angered his father to an end to send him away. Naturally, it was the time in a man's life to go off to college. He understood and respected this decision made by his father. It was an institution of learning. He would attain great knowledge about the world and all its wonders.

He kept near the train as he passed the newspaper stand. "_Get your news here! Big Stuff happening in Gotham! The elite are in a fix!"_

Bystanders hovered around the booth looking over the latest. Damian turned his collar up on his black trench coat, so that no one could recognize him. That was the last thing he needed –to have someone holler at him for the story on the latest incident.

On that notion, he abandoned his affair with the train and walked near the newsstand where the latest papers were displayed. From behind his collar, he eyed the black and white pictures. The title was hard to miss. "JOSEPHINE KANE IN DANGER: WAYNE UNAVAILABE FOR COMMENT."

The picture on the cover mesmerized Damian. The grayscale photo did nothing for the girl he used to know. Instead of the brown, it was black. Her pale while skin was transformed into a moldy gray and upon closer inspection, it appeared her face looked asymmetrical.

He fished into his pocket and removed a gold pocket watch. It really made no sense for him to carry one but the time was not his meaning. With a click, the plate popped open to reveal a beautifully crafted clock from France. It was not the right hand side that attached him to the item –with the golden hands elegantly carved from the carpenter's hand –but the picture on the left. A smiling brunette illuminated the image. Her eyes had that familiar sparkle in them he always looked back on and had thought of so often in his months away.

_It feels like so long ago._

He wanted to touch the image. He did so many times in the shelter of college, reminiscing. Here was not the place. Later.

He clicked it shut when a person behind him began to glance towards the precious jewelry. It was replaced in his pocket. He shouldered his way from the newspaper stands and out the double doors. The streets smelled the same. Everything seemed the same. Same old, same old. Gotham never really changed. He didn't raise his hopes too much, but it was all he could do to get himself to the manor.

To see her.

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><p><strong>AN: See you next week, my lovelies! Opinions welcome.**


	2. New & Old

**Hello everyone! Welcome back to the second edition of the story. We're in the past again, just to let you know. It's a little before the events in the first chapter. FYI, the main story will take place about ten years from this point. I have to cover the basics for you guys, so bear with me. It will not all be children. Although, I might have some fun with this…**

**Happy reading!**

_**November 2018**_

Terrible hours passed within the walls of the burning building. Still, Batman did not arrive.

Bruce Wayne started to escort people to safety when the reports arrived. A fire in the Bellville Theatre. The flames were getting hotter. Firemen were having problems with it. The Bat signal was up. No Batman yet.

"Is he here?" "Not yet." "Is he there?" "Not yet." "We're still waiting." "I don't know if he's coming." Keep waiting.

Bruce didn't have the luxury of a capsule when he was out on the night. It was supposed to be an easy evening. He was going to dinner –a change to his routine, but he had to make appearances. He was the famous Bruce Wayne after all: the boy billionaire. He had to be shared. He had neglected his fellow charity workers long enough. It would be safe. It would make them happy for a time to have him there. As long as everything went according to plan. Nightwing would cover for him.

Everything did not go according to plan.

From the beginning, things started to turn rough. Company panicked. Once the reports started coming in, everything in his head started to become sharper as he waited for the moment to pounce on the suit and leave. But, that option was currently unavailable.

Usually, this type of event was not uncommon in Gotham. More so, the people in the ballroom with him were not very…concerned when the time came for the heroes to come out. But, this time, the building in question was next to theirs. When the flames started to rise, so did the attitudes and temperatures in the room. Everyone had to get out.

Bruce tried to get all of them away. He ushered them out. But, he had Veronica Vreeland telling him about being able to see her youngest daughter again. He calmly assured her that she would be fine. Everything would be fine.

He had to get out. He had to become Batman. There was little time.

He wasn't in Wayne Enterprises. There was no suit. He couldn't order Alfred to bring it to him. It was all up to him to deliver the people from their misery. He had to act fast.

The roof would grant him opportunity for escape. Instead of going down the stairs with others, he sneaked away and went for the upstairs. There would be an exit there. His footsteps echoed over the metallic stairway. He really didn't care about how noisy he was. As long as the others wouldn't follow him, that was the priority. Knowing them, they probably wouldn't. He heard the last of their panicked shouts faint as the outer door was shut tight. _Good, they're gone._

Bruce opened the red handled door and stepped onto the rooftop with ease. He scanned the horizon for the smoke. To his right, the toxins were pouring into the air and on the ground. The leftover fog stuck to the streets like a thick winter sweater – that, added with soot and ash made for a very uncomfortable garb for the Gothamites. He heard sirens below, thankful that the reliable police would at least be able to control what could be done down below. But, what to do about the suit?

Bruce fished for his communicator and switched it on. The static hissed as it made the connection.

"Alfred? Are you there?"

"Master Bruce, I've heard the reports. There is a fire down in the-"

"I know. I need the suit Alfred. I can see the smoke streaming overhead."

"I can't do that, Master Bruce. There is a problem with the capsule. It is malfunctioning. I'm sorry but Batman won't be able to make an appearance. What about one of your spares?"

"Locked away in Wayne Enterprises. There isn't time to get it. I have to act now."

"Perhaps Bruce Wayne will have to make a heroic appearance at last."

"You might be right."

"Stranger things have happened."

"Thank you Alfred. Over."

He had to think fast. He had to be resourceful. _Bruce Wayne has been in worst situations without Batman. A suit was just a suit. The symbol. Alfred is right. Tonight it will have to me who goes in. _

He had little time. He could literally hear the time ticking as his finger grazed his Rolex. The little hand stayed steady whilst the second hand ticked away mockingly. He had to get moving.

Red handles hanging from the side signaled a fire escape. Bruce ran toward it began to lower himself down the long stretch of rungs. About halfway down, his lungs began to fill with the familiar taste of ash. He tried his best to shield himself from all the smoke flooding around but it was difficult climbing with one hand. He tugged his collar up and continued.

His feet touched ground and he was overcome with wooziness from the toxic air. The fog had done little to subside and Bruce felt himself grasping thin air to keep him from tripping, or falling from bitter oxygen. Blue and white lights dotted the steamy street like sort of congested night sky. The lights began to manipulate into strange long symbols without meaning. He deeply regretted not having the suit, or at least his ventilator. That might have made matters better.

Wait.

One of the firemen. If he could get to one, he could find an oxygen tank. One had to have a spare around. It was his only chance.

He moved faster, waving his arms around to avoid potential articles. He put himself into extreme focus. Screams echoed all around. Radios being used, panicked citizens, the rush of water coming from the hoses…all were tuned out. Shadows in the fog were who he needed to find. One of the larger ones. The skinnier were the police. He needed to avoid them.

Then, his hands placed themselves on be a pair of shoulders. The mystery person's arms found his forearm. By the feel of the uniform. It wasn't a fireman. There was a moment before either of them spoke.

"Mr. Wayne? Is that you?"

James Gordon.

"Yes, Commissioner, it's me. Did everyone get out of the building safely?"

"Boy, are we glad to find you! One woman was worried you'd gotten trapped under something. We could only expect the worst."

"Is everyone all right?"

"Yes, everyone's either fine or getting medical treatment. But between you and me I think some have seen too many dramas. For the most part they're okay. Speaking of which, have you seen the medics?"

"I'm fine. Commissioner, what about the people in the theater?"

"We're going to get every person out of there as soon as we can hose down this place. The flames are too much for the men to get in safely. I'm only glad that you're out."

"Did you check the people in that building?"

"We're working on it, Mr. Wayne. The firemen are trying to control some of the fires so they don't leak out onto other structures."

Bruce coughed.

"You need to see someone about that cough."

"No, it's just a little smoke. Honestly, I'm okay. I'm only worried about the people in the theater."

"Well, some got out already. There was a small performance going on. Many of the audience were out. The fire team's concern is the backstage people that might have been trapped. We can only hope that they can get out or are near an exit."

"I hope so, as well."

_This might prove difficult. _

"Mr. Wayne, let's get you toward one of the medics…" Gordon began to usher him toward a car shaped like a block.

"No, really, I'm fine. Just, if you could, escort me to one of the fire trucks. That would help me."

"Why?"

"…ever since I was little…I felt comfortable around fire trucks. They calm me….I can't really explain it."

He couldn't see, but knew that Gordon was probably giving him a peculiar look. The direction changed towards a hulking monster of vehicles: The king of the emergency vans.

"I'm fine here, Commissioner. There should be someone here to help me."

"I still don't know what you're doing Mr. Wayne, but I'll keep a look out on you. Don't interfere with the police work."

"I won't."

Gordon shook his head and tread off into the dissolute smoke. At least it was going down a bit. Bruce had to act fast. He pulled out the shelves and compartments of the fire truck, searching for the treasured item. At last, he found one and placed it around his head. He turned the dial on and checked the oxygen valve. _Thirty Minutes. It will have to be enough._

He set off away from the chaos towards the side of the building. Whilst climbing down, he thought he noticed an emergency exit on the other side of the theater. That would be the best guess to get in. He checked the officers. They were still piling water on the building. The fire seemed to be going down, but he could not wait any longer. Bruce Wayne gripped the bars of the emergency hatch and went for it.

No one disturbed him as he climbed to a window and let himself in. Lucky for him, the firefighters seemed to be more preoccupied with hoses today. The glass broke easily. Bruce was careful not to cut himself as he scooted through. No matter what the squad was doing down below, it did nothing for the heavy smoke in the room. The area was littered with costumes, makeup, props…you named it, it was here. It must have been the storage room. Bruce wandered farther out. He was on the upper level. There would be less likely people up here, but that was the point of his venture. The lower level citizens could get out. These were less likely.

"Is anyone here?" he called, his voice muffled into a more robotic tone with the tank.

No answer. He moved out of the room and into a hall. It was dusty and filled with assorted cobwebs and other stains. There were a few closets her checked with no one there. He worked fast. Stomping loudly, he hoped that the volume would alert anyone to his presence and they would have the good sense to come out. When doing so, he was careful not to plunge himself through the floor. Fire weakened structures. One unplanned move could send him to dangerous injury or death.

"I anyone here? Don't be afraid."

Still no answer.

Although, there was a sound echoing from the corner door on the far right. It was near the door marked _Balcony_. Bruce closed in on it. The sound turned to whimpering. It was a child.

"Hello? Is anyone in there?"

There was no more whimpering. Bruce listened by the door and decided that whoever was in there was either half scared out of their wits, or passed out from the smoke.

"If you are still awake, listen to me. I'm going to break down the door. Do you understand? Please move away from it. It's very important."

He paused for reply. Nothing.

They must have passed out.

He readied himself to kick the door down. Backing away, he bounced on his heels to get the momentum, and then burst through the door. Into the room, the smoke was heaviest. The windows were blackened from the element's attack. Unfortunately they were closed and room the room stank of the falling ash surrounding him. The rank smell even penetrated the stronghold of the ventilator. Bruce ignored the scent and went forward, looking over the floor. So far, the red carpet was laden with overturned chairs, cabinets and other furniture. Strange costumes hung blithely on the forgotten stools. The curtain from the window fell away from the window, the heavy volume of it landing with a loud thump. Bruce turned toward the sound – ears alert – but upon realizing what it was, waved it off.

But not before he saw what was beneath the veil.

Closer inspection was needed. Bruce crept closer to what was a piece of cloth lying under the deep crimson cloth. The strip of clothing was multicolored as if sewn with nothing other than spare patches found here and there.

Bruce lifted the curtain away to find a girl lying there. She had to be no more than six.

He bent down and brushed away the wild brown hair from her forehead. He quickly checked the skull for any abrasions. There was a cut near her hairline. She must have been hiding when he came in. The curtain must have knocked her out. Her face was smudged with ash, but there was something about the cheeks that caused him to stop. Their curve was familiar. Being a detective, he could sometimes tell genetics about people.

Under the coat of soot over her skin, he noticed more similarities in her facial description. His eyes widened.

_She can't be…is this really the - ? _

Suddenly, he realized his situation. How could he have forgotten so easily? He checked the valve. _Two minutes_. It might not have been enough. He could hear thumping footsteps of the firefighters coming upstairs. They must have dulled the flames. He could not let them find her there.

Bruce picked up the girl. He left the room and went back to the fire escape window. It was the only way to get out. Each step he took, the thumping got louder and louder. He quickened his pace. Bruce Wayne was a large man, whose stride was longer than others. As he got into the room with the escape, he abandoned the face mask. Taking extreme caution, he stepped outside the window with his right leg, then with the left, careful with the child's head. She was tucked in his coat, still asleep. He tried his best not to wake her.

He got down the stairs much slower than before with his cargo. Bruce shuffled his feet as they echoed down the metal stairway. He neared the ground, which was still full of smoke. He tucked the girl's body as much as he could into his dinner jacket. If anyone saw her, it could be the end.

There was one woman sticking out of the crowd.

She stood in the middle of the road. Her face was streaked in tears - rubbed raw with worry. Had a transport run her over, she might not have even noticed. Her clothes were less than the common person but not as shabby as a street urchin. She hugged the remnants of her seared coat around her. Feet tapped patterns into the dust below.

The building stood there, still smoking.

There was still hope.

She rang her hands, wanting desperately to go in, to see for herself. To make sure. At the same time, she didn't want them to find her. If they did, who knows what could happen. She couldn't bear the separation –not again.

The last fireman walked out. Emergency workers blocked view, and she almost sprinted towards him, but there was an incident.

An exuberant light seared through the windows until they shattered one by one. The lucky people ducked in time to avoid the crushed pieces flinging around. The ones closest, like the fireman, were thrown back from the impact. A menacing explosion continued throughout the building, but it did not fall.

"No!" screamed the woman, after she stood up again. Her hands fell from her ears and she looked for the last fireman she couldn't see. He lay in a corner, near the adjacent building. She shrieked at the sight of him and fell to her knees in heart wrenching sobs. It was not his gruesome body that appalled her.

It was his empty arms.

On a near rooftop, Bruce Wayne beheld the fires enveloping the structure. The building was stubborn. It wouldn't fall. That was none of his concern now.

He turned his attention to the sleeping child in his arms. He held onto her like a life raft for reasons he could not explain. He could only be happy that now she was safe. But what would he do with her?

There were so many feelings. So many mixed feelings about this little child. This…innocent girl. _His_ child.

There was a sound beside him and he knew the person.

"Heard you got into some trouble over there," said Nightwing.

Bruce made no comment. He merely stared at the flames.

Nightwing looked down but the pale girl captured his attention. "Who is this?"

"I found her in the attic of the theater. I'll take her back to have her taken care of."

"Can't you do that now?"

"_No_."

Nightwing stepped back: that voice meant reason, and Bruce had his reasons for doing everything, even if they didn't seem logical at the time. He shrugged. His trust was the strongest in any person, and could only hope that this would lead to the best.

Bruce Wayne made few crucial mistakes.

Realizing that he was needed elsewhere, he bid a silent farewell to his mentor and fell to the chaos below.

**A/N: Feel free to comment on it. Message me or whatever suits you guys.**

**-AceMate**


	3. Doctor & Patient

**Happy Woden's Day! For you guys who haven't read my past story, this is when I post a chapter on Wednesday. I like these because you get to have a chapter at an earlier time. I hope you all devoured some chocolate bunnies and had a great Easter or whatever you celebrate. **

**More to come. Enjoy.**

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><p>"<em>I want you to check her. Everything. From basics to psychoanalysis. Everything has to be clear."<em>

When Bruce returned to the Manor, he wasted no time in phoning one of the only people he trusted – the only medical personnel he trusted – Dr. Leslie Thompkins.

Aged more than she preferred, she still practiced from her clinic in Gotham, which was rebuilt seven years ago after the Arkham City shenanigans. In those days, she had to be anywhere else practicing her medicine. Mostly, she took her talents to Africa and used herself in the vaccine crusades.

But now, she was in the comforts –if one could say as much – in Gotham. In her office again, she waited on the impoverished once more. She couldn't complain. It was her calling. Ever since what happened to Thomas and his wife, she felt the need to help the poor and aide Bruce in his crusades, even if she didn't always agree with his life choices. Especially this one.

She was closing up shop when the phone rang at about nine. Bruce called to tell her about this girl he had found and how he needed some help. She knew what kind of help he needed. The hush-hush sort. It came with the territory. She knew his identity and with that, came an assortment of assignments through Batman, though this one was mysterious. She was clueless as to what the girl had to do with any of it – or why it had to be specifically _her_ to treat her.

"Alright, but where did you find her?" she asked as she stood over the girl in Bruce's living room. She missed the ornate furniture. It felt like ages since she had been in that house. She came often when Bruce was a boy and his parents were alive. Thomas Wayne could throw a good charity fund.

"I told you. In the theatre. She had to have hit her head on something. I heard her before I rescued her."

"Hmm," she murmured as she brushed a hand over the girl's forehead. She lay on the small sofa facing the television. She was still out. "And you haven't done anything with her since I got here?"

His face hardened. "No."

"Why not? Why not go to the medics when you found her? They would have been happy to take her off your hands – find her parents and all." She paused. "That _is_ what you still do, is it? You haven't taken to kidnapping children in my absence?" Dr. Thompkins suggested with an eyebrow quirked.

Bruce frowned solemnly.

"Look Bruce, I'm not trying to be a nuisance, but it would be nice to get a simple word from you. Why haven't you taken her to the medics? Why me?" She crossed her arms over her dingy medical coat, once a fine white, now a tan dirt magnet.

"Because I trust you. That's all you need to know for now…please, just...help me. Please."

She sighed heavily. It was not often she heard the billionaire beg for anything, if you could call his bass voice begging. "Alright, I will. But you have to promise that after I do it, you let me in on what's going on. You're hiding something. And don't try to cover it up. I'll find it on her."

"Trust me. I wouldn't doubt that you would."

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><p>She ran the blood work. Took the samples. Got the girl awake long enough to judge that by her eyes she defiantly had some damage with that cut across her head. Dr. Thompkins tried to ask her some questions while they waited for the blood work to be done. Bruce asked for his <em>own<em> sample to run his _own_ tests. He had disappeared since.

Dr. Thompkins' instincts were firing off stronger and stronger in his absence. He was up to something. She tried to distract erself with questioning the girl. She may nto get any answers by the looks of it.

"Why were you in that building?" she asked, with that bedisede manner she worked on for years.

The girl sat there, eyes searching for the answer on the floor. "I don't know."

"Where you with someone?"

"I don't remember."

"What day of the week is it?"

"I…I…M-Monday, I think…" She fiddled with her dress.

It was Friday.

"Can you tell me what you were doing?"

"I….don't know!" The girl's eyes filled up with the salty tears and drained as she started to cry.

"There there, it's fine." Dr. Thompkins reached into her purse and pulled out some chocolate. "Here, have some of this. Everything will be fine," she replied in her soothing voice.

The girl sat there chewing on her chocolate. At least she knew what candy was. But it didn't take a world class psychiatrist to figure out that the child had amnesia. The extent of the damage was unknown but it was there. Her memory could and would return in time. The symptoms were here but it was always difficult to tell with someone so young.

The girl's whimpering brought her back. The chocolate was gone. She was about to reach into her purse for another chunk when it was taken care of.

"Here you are, Miss," said the good butler as he handed the girl a sizable piece of chocolate cake. The girl's eyes grew wide as she took the bounty and began to devour it. Alfred walked away from her and stood next to the doctor.

Leslie half smiled at him. Yes, Alfred had to show off. He winked at her before disappearing into the kitchen. His playfulness was not often seen, at least to her. Of course, she had been gone for so long. She looked after him and began to wonder about what might have happened had she decided to stay at Wayne Manor when Thomas died. It was in Thomas's last wishes that she and Alfred look after Bruce together. Of course, she was close to Thomas, but she didn't imagine that he would put her up to such a task and with _Alfred_. He could be quite the schemer, even in the afterlife. A tear trickled down her cheek. She missed him. Even after decades, she still wished that Joe Chill should have picked some other couple walking down the alley. Why the Waynes?

She felt a sense of guilt about Bruce and his fate. She didn't exactly make the best role model. Maybe that was why he ended up as Batman. At least he had Alfred. Yes, at least that was good for him. She got that faraway look in her eye and she wondered about the past.

"Why so sad?"

The little voice brought her back. Sad? Oh no…

She felt the wetness on her cheeks. She was crying and didn't even know it. Quick as a wink, a tissue was placed in her hand. No need to look to where that came from.

"Thank you Alfred."

She dotted her cheeks quickly and tucked away the paper.

"Reminiscing on old times?"

How did he always seem to know?

"What else do we have, Alfred?"

He smiled sadly at her. Maybe he wondered about the same things she did. At least she could feel comforted that even the great butler could feel some grief as well. What was she saying? Shame on her. Of course he felt the sting. He lived with them for God's sake. Shame, shame, shame…

"Why so sad?"

Leslie looked to the girl again and found that not had she devoured the whole slice, but had about half of it on her face. Wherever she was from, she didn't have any table manners.

"Alfred, we need a towel for this one."

But the great butler was already gone, leaving her alone with the girl. She stared at the girl. There was a large bandage around her forehead and on her arm, where she took some blood. The girl squealed some, but for the most part, did better than other children. The hair looked better than in the beginning. IT was all unraveled, but she managed to comb through it and make it look somewhat clean. The girl was in an oversized shirt and bath robe that swallowed her. It must have belonged to Tim years ago. At least she was clean. But one feature stood out. Her eyes were an exuberant green. Even as she tried to lick off the chocolate, she looked very….otherworldly. Dr. Thompkins couldn't put her finger on it, but this child had something about her that rang bells.

Alfred appeared and handed her a hand towel. The girl wiped her face with it and smiled up at Alfred. What a smile, she thought. That kid was something. Alfred took the soiled cloth back to the kitchen.

Bruce came into the room – face blanched.

"Bruce? What's the matter?"

He waved her off and ran a hand over his mouth looking at the girl. She kicked her feet out and stared at them. Bruce Wayne speechless…now there was something you didn't see every day. He pointed to the kitchen. She nodded and moved to the other room.

He checked the living room to make sure they were out of earshot. When satisfied, he began his sentencing.

"What did you find?" he asked.

"More importantly, what did you find? Have you seen your face? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"More than you may think." She didn't like the sound of that. Not one bit. "But please, tell me about her."

"She only had some abrasions on her head. I suppose it's where she fell. Her lungs are fine. Everything else about her body is fine. But there is one point that bothers me."

"Her head."

"So you know."

"I had a look at her eyes before you arrived. It looked like –"

" – brain damage? I believe so. I don't know if this is finite, but she has retrograde amnesia. She can't remember why she was there or who she was there with. I think she might have been abandoned."

Bruce looked pained. Dr. Thompkins stared him down. What was the matter? The man was use to taking in children off the street but this one had him almost scared.

"If only that might be true."

"What do you mean? Bruce, you've kept me in the dark long enough. What is going on? Do you know who she is?"

Bruce sighed. "Yes. I do. When I asked for blood samples, I was running tests for genetics…I had to be sure that I was right."

"Right?" The doctor's eyes widened. "So you know where she came from."

"More than that." He ran the hand over his mouth and into his hair. "But it isn't going to be…that simple."

"Are her parents not in the system? You can't find another relative?"

"I know them, but…"

"Stop beating around the bush and tell me." Her voice took on a sharpness. Bruce was a grown man, but could drag out an explanation. "Are they dead, alive, lost, what?"

Bruce stared into her soul with that intensity. The doctor felt a little off balance as he did this. Whatever the reason, it truly was serious. "If I tell you, you have to swear to secrecy. _Nothing_ leaves this house."

"What could be so bad about this? What do you know?"

"Promise me." Leslie stared into his dark eyes. Their brooding quality had an extra seriousness in them that she could not resist fighting. Whatever it was, he meant it, as always.

"I promise."

"Alfred, come here, you need to hear this too." Of course he did.

The great butler came over and the three stood there. Two of them holding their breath. What was the great secret? She wanted to know.

Bruce moved his head towards the living room door. "That girl…is someone we can all safely assume to be the child of someone whose threat was long since thought to be gone forever."

Dr. Thompkins sucked in her breath. Her heart skipped a beat. Was this who she was thinking of? Could it be…but it couldn't. No it was impossible. That was years ago….nothing like that could have happened. That was impossible. It had to be…

"That girl…is the Joker's daughter."

* * *

><p>Dr. Thompkins was gob smacked. There was no other word to describe it. A daughter? A child in existence? When did that happen? When did Bruce know? <em>Arkham City.<em> That was when this all happened. She was in Africa. She missed out on the fun of the near massive takeover of Strange, Penguin, Two-Face and Joker. Two died that night. It was the semi-spectacular talk of the world. But, this piece of information was greatly masked. This was the first she had ever heard it.

"Master Bruce…are you sure…"

"Yes, Alfred. I'm sure. I ran the tests and they came out positive." Even Alfred was a little gobsmacked. So he hadn't told Alfred either.

Another question bubbled up. "Who is the mother?"

Bruce exhaled, and said lightly, "Harley Quinn."

"Stupid question," she muttered to herself. The clown's doting love slave had also given him a child.

"Master Bruce, what will happen to her? Where is Harley?"

An excellent question. One that the doctor would like to know. What woman so devoted to the Joker would leave her child without a thought? Had she given up so easily?

"I saw her there."

No. She couldn't. SHe must be too precous to give up.

"Surely, Harley Quinn couldn't have just left her there," Alfred inquired.

"No, but it could have been on accident. But if Harley was there, she must have seen the explosion." Bruce's expression turned to flint.

"Explosion?" Alfred and I were on the same page there. What _did_ happen?

"The building nearly collapsed. I saw her when it happened. I think she believes that her daughter is dead."

"How horrible," breathed Dr. Thompkins.

Bruce turned on her. "You think that I should give her back to her?"

"I was only saying that it was horrible for a mother to think that because she couldn't save her daughter, she died. You cannot deny the horror in that."

Bruce sunk into a thoughtful phase.

"What are you going to do with her? If you aren't going to return her to her mother..."

Bruce fixed his jaw. "I think that someone might want to take her in. Of course, they will never know about her lineage. No one would take her then."

Dr. Thompkins and Alfred grimaced. As bad as it sounded, it was true. The doctor was still having trouble grasping the concept that that madman even had a daughter to begin with, let alone the girl she had just bathed and bandaged. She glanced at her watch.

"Bruce, its midnight!"

"So it is."

"Master Bruce, would you like me to prepare the suit?"

"Yes, I won't let Nightwing take this one alone." He started to leave the room, but halted and faced his late father's friend. "Doctor, about the tests..."

"I can come back later to finish them. I hope she can...last until then," said Leslie, still a bit shaken by the news. "But Bruce, what about…that one." She gestured to the door. "What are you going to do?"

"Alfred can take care of her until I get back. I can't neglect my duty to the city."

"But the Joker's daughter under your roof. It's almost unreal."

"Nothing seems impossible anymore, Leslie."

"What about her? In the future, will you tell _her_?"

"I can't say that I might. It doesn't feel like a good thing to me. She won't understand."

"Maybe it will be weeks or months…but she _is_ going to find out sooner or later. Consider it Bruce. You will need to be the one to tell her. Maybe it might not seem like the right thing at the time, but she needs to know. Someone has to explain it to her. But, whatever you decide, make sure it's the right thing for her." Leslie couldn' explain but there was an atachment she had already felt to the girl. Even in the circumstances, her wellbeing was of great importance. Perhaps it was the healer quality she posessed, but she wasn't going to leave it all to that. Bruce needed to understand the situation and if the girl wasn't seen to properly, it could all end badly...

He nodded, not looking at her. "Goodnight." He left and went towards the Bat Cave.

Leslie and Alfred were alone again.

"You're taking this rather well," said Leslie. Alfred shook his head.

"It is very surprising for me. But I can't say that it will affect how I treat the young miss. Knowing that information. I think I will treat her all the better. She may need it"

"No one deserves you, Alfred."

"I don't think so."

As much as she wanted to stay at the manor, Dr. Thompkins felt the heavy hand of sleep begin to relax her muscles. At this rate, she wouldn't be able to drive home. "Alfred, I think I'll go. I might check in again, but if I don't…it was nice seeing you again." She touched his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

He smiled back. "For me as well."

"Take care of that one." She nodded to the door. "She will need it. And send her to bed. It's midnight."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Leslie went towards the door and hovered over the doorknob.

"If I may make so bold a request for you return, I think the young miss will be very happy."

"Will she?" said Leslie, her voice struck.

"You're not going to abandon her as well?" Alfred's eyes held that graceful ability to make one feel guilty. The orbs stared unobligingly into her heart and skillfully pulled the strings it took to make her give over.

She thought for a moment before answering, "If that is…the truth about her. Then, I suppose I'll have to cling to her as well." Then, with a slight mischievous note. "Then I will have to come back." She waved. "...to finish those tests..."

The door closed behind her and Dr. Thompkins pulled out of the driveway.

* * *

><p><strong>I would just like to point out that on Friday, StarKid Productions will be posting their new show up on Youtube. It is called "Holy Musical, Batman!" I bet it will be fantastic and everyone should watch. If you loved A Very Potter Musical, then this should be your cup of tea...<strong>


	4. Stay & Go

**Another Chapter! Woot! Thanks to all who read. You guys rock. I like that you guys support. It's nice to see those stats go up.**

* * *

><p>Bruce Wayne was not thinking clearly when he awoke the next morning. His memory was fuzzed, and his head ached from a punch a thug got in the previous night. He stared over at an alarm clock. 10:00. He slept too long.<p>

It felt like a usual day when he stood up and did his routine stretches, the muscles moaned as he worked out the kinks. His arm was over his chest when he remembered the extra person asleep in his home. Sullenly, he finished his pushups and headed downstairs for breakfast.

Alfred prepared his eggs and toast as usual, along with the needed bandages. He sat at the head and began eating when he heard the grumbling beside him. He stopped mid-fork to see the girl sitting there with her arm still wrapped in the salve. She sat there staring at him, eyes wide in confusion.

"Hello," he said warily. Her staring didn't cease. "Have you eaten yet? Do you want some toast?" He offered his plate to her but she shook her head. He looked away from her and continued eating. After a few minutes, he noticed that she had not ceased her staring. This wasn't the first time this happened. Since her rescue, the girl had acted rather strangely. Bruce should have been used to it by now but couldn't shake the feeling that it led to something else. "Alfred, has she eaten anything, yet?"

"No sir, she won't eat. She hasn't said a word all morning. And she was up quite early."

Bruce frowned. She wouldn't eat, then? He sighed. She would have to eventually. Was it trauma? Sickness? Victims of amnesia usually displayed symptoms that made them wary of their surroundings, but this girl was not. In fact, she was much too interested in him, but he had to make amends and decide what to do with her.

"Master Bruce, have you decided what to call her?"

"What?"

"A name, sir. She does not yet have a name. At least one we know of. It might be nice to give her one."

Bruce had no clue what to call her. The Joker's daughter. It could be ironic, something like Columbia. He shook the thought out. Names like that shouldn't have come across. The Joker's daughter. That was one he was still getting used to. He couldn't ignore the slight chill that ran down his spine whenever it resurfaced. His arch nemesis's child…in his house. Of course, he had known that she existed. Long ago, he saw the pregnancy test and feared that the child would one day come back to haunt him. Here she was, but not exactly at the time he had expected, and without the knowledge of her heritage. This could present an entirely different opportunity, but Bruce was hesitant about it. He was still getting used to the idea of a child in his home again. It hasn't been since Tim went away.

"I don't know. I haven't given it any thought." He ladled some eggs into his mouth and chewed as Alfred stood to the side, waiting for more.

"Perhaps you should give it extra thought, Master Bruce. After all, she is here."

Bruce slapped his fork onto the plate with a brash _clang_. "I don't know what to do with her Alfred. She isn't my responsibility."

"If you don't mind my taking the liberty to say, Master Bruce. She is. You did not hesitate to take in Master Dick or Master Tim. Why not her as well? She has no home to go to. And if you wish her to remain a part from her mother, as I know you do, you should take some action in this. You are all she has."

Bruce sighed, knowing he was right, knowing he was behaving like a child. "But why me? I'm nothing to her."

"On the contrary, Master Bruce. I think you are. Look."

Bruce looked to where his butler gestured and saw the girl taking eggs off his plate and sticking her little fingers into her mouth. When their eyes met, she smiled brightly at him. He was not usually a poet, but her eyes behaved like diamonds were strung in them. It was a curious thought, but it arose as soon as the smile had.

"Are you the one who brought me back here?" she asked.

Bruce was a bit stunned that she spoke, regarding her with an offhand wince, but quickly gathered himself. "Yes, I am."

"Do I know you?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, I don't think you do. My name is Bruce Wayne."

"My name is…." Her lip quivered. Emptiness overtook her eyes and they slowly dipped into the deeper side of the pond. "My name is…." She kept repeating the phrase until she went silent again. Then, she went to the corner and curled into a fetal position, lips still quivering. "I don't know. I don't know my name." She pinched her eyes shut.

Bruce watched this ritual with interest. _She doesn't know_, he thought. _Not yet, anyway,_

He got up from the table and stood near her. "Why don't we go out for a while? It might take your mind off some things."

She glanced up at him with that haunted stare. Lips trembled as she fidgeted with her hands. "But I want to remember! I don't know my name! I don't know who I am!" She stood and rushed out of the room, upstairs.

He folded his arms. "She needs some space."

"Yes, perhaps, but you must do something, Master Bruce. Let her know that you are here for her."

"I can't do that because I'm not."

"What?"

"I'm not the person to take care of her. If she is to…adapt to a normal life, she needs to be with people who can give that to her. I can't do that, Alfred. I can't keep her. Another family would be more suited to her."

"What about what she needs? Are you sure you know that? Have you spoken more than those words to her? She needs someone who can provide the truth to her. Not some lie that will shadow where she came from. A normal life is good, yes, but it isn't what she really needs. You have been alone since Master Tim left for college. Perhaps it is time to take in a new-"

"-no! Stop, Alfred. I don't want to hear it anymore. I know where you're coming from but…I just can't…."

He left the table and the butler alone.

* * *

><p>December<p>

She had been living with Bruce Wayne for about two weeks. It was the first week of the twelfth month and, of course, Christmas was near. After a time of convincing, Alfred managed to get Bruce to grasp the idea of spending more time with her other than the little meals they shared sitting next to each other whilst Bruce sat and talked of his vigilante business with Alfred.

She knew about his identity. He had tried to keep it hidden from her, but it was futile – a tragic attempt. Eventually, she worked out the details of his absences. She saw through his ploys of being away at some party or sporting events. His injuries were giveaways as well. He explained that his wounds and bruises were evidence of a badly done spelunking adventure in the caves below. He berated himself for that one. Caves. He would have figured that out when _he_ was six. As the story panned out, she caught on and guessed. He had no other choice but give in. What else could he have done?

She was gracious, saying that she would never give him away because she couldn't remember anybody. There was that one small flicker of humor left in her. Her wyes twinkled when she had said that, placing her hands on her hips. He couldn't help but shake his head. She was in better spirits and probably going to be one to taunt him, even if he scolded her – a handful.

But that didn't sway him. He spent time with her in the house. She went out to the gardens and drew, sometimes just laid out in the grass playing with her hair. She had extremely long hair. Like it had never been cut. It went well past her hips, but she fixed the problem of tangles with a long braid, sometimes two. Otherwise, her hair was a bit of a mess. It was very wavy and sometimes stuck out if not combed. But she handled herself. Sometimes Leslie came and fixed her up. She seemed to like that.

It had taken a long while for him to make up his mind to take her outside of Wayne Manor. Not only did the hesitation come from his apparent uneasiness of her presence – but also the imminent possibility that if she were to venture into the public, Harley might come after her. That was a chance Bruce was not willing to take.

Until now.

He walked on the streets of Gotham with her. He was dressed in a fine black overcoat, hoping that no one would recognize him. Beside him, the girl was dressed in a simple blue dress with a coat. When she stayed, Bruce had to purchase all new clothes for her since Wayne Manor was in short supply of anything feminine. On her head sat a little cap that covered her ears. But the item wasn't doing its job since her ears were still pink.

He was currently in a battle of handholding. Every time he would look away, she would try to grasp his fingers in her tiny hand. He always pulled away, never too willing to be in physical contact with anyone unless it was to throw a punch. Besides, he hardly knew this girl. And by the looks of her future, he might not want to.

They were in their tenth round of the battle (Bruce was winning), when the girl suddenly stopped in front of the window of an ornate store. The window was coated in gold trimmings and ribbons. Toys of all shapes and sizes beleaguered the display from toy soldiers to teddy bears to dolls. He could only wonder what she was looking at. There were so many choices.

He placed his hands in his pockets and watched her as she touched the glass so delicately as if it would break at the slightest pressure. That child's want this time of year seemed so long ago. Usually, he avoided the stores. He was no Scrooge, but it was a hassle. And the cashiers always wanted to sell him things he didn't want or need…but he ended up buying them anyway.

He tried to keep walking but after a few steps, he looked back and saw her in the same position. He turned on his heel and drew himself by her side. She took no heed and kept staring at the objects in wonder. He followed her gaze to a magnificent music box with a twirling Venetian figure. The melody was faint but if you held your breath you could hear the tiny little notes echo from inside. It was a pretty little tune, but the sound must have meant much more for her. A tear slid down her cheek.

"What's wrong?" asked Bruce as he fetched a handkerchief from his pocket and distributed it to her.

She dotted her eyes shyly. "It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

He did _not_ expect that.

He forgot little things of his childhood. The wonder. The magic. Before the incident….he forgot what it was like for a child to look into a store and elect it as the most beautiful thing in the world. He had to put his prejudices aside. Before, she must have seen these stores a thousand times and never be able to touch anything of the kind – especially that music box she so desired. To grow up thinking that she couldn't have anything like that.

"Do you like that music box?" It was an obvious answer but it had to be heard.

She turned to him, eyes sparkling with the remnants of her salty tears. "I love it," she whispered.

The music box was giftwrapped.

* * *

><p>Bruce wandered through the parlor one day after fixing himself his morning medications. He had planned to go to his company picnic that afternoon. His features had to be in tip top shape for him not to be questioned about his activities. He was running out of excuses: sports, accidents, etc. Of course, he had said those years ago, but found that some could be repeated without penalty. How quickly some were to forget what he was up to.<p>

He went into the larger relaxation room with sofas where he planned to sprawl out and relax. There weren't any crime lords or drug dealers to snoop out from last night. He would have to wait until later to get a better look into the Underworld. His attempts to contact some of the lower castes for information came up….short in the past week. He would have to try harder.

He lay down on a cream white couch and closed his eyes, praying for some kind of peace to relax his mind – to help him think. That wasn't to be. As soon as he felt the wake of drowsiness, a small sound echoed from the adjacent room.

It was piano keys.

He didn't know, but there was some kind of music hanging there like it was alive. And in his home. Intrigued, he got up and went in there. As far as he knew, Alfred didn't play. No one else could have been doing so unless it was….

"_On a tree….by a river…sat a little Tom-Tit…."_

Yes. It was her.

"…_singing Willow Tit-Willow, Tit-Willow…"_

Sitting on a little bench in front of the piano, the Joker's daughter tinkered away on the keys. None of the notes made any sense, but the sound was something that made the darker parts of his mind drift away. The childishness of her interest enlightened him to that forgotten part. Ever Since Tim left for college, the house was without any young voice or interest.

"_And I said to him Dicky Bird…"_

He stepped into the room, careful not to distract her. The notes carried him over to a seat where he sat quietly. That is where he noticed the drawings. They sat innocently on the chair beside – forgotten or misplaced. It was done in crayon.

_Alfred_, he thought, and thumbed through some. They were mediocre to say the least. But what six-year-old could draw a masterpiece? They were full of figures and such but there was one that caught his eye. It was of her and she had drawn in the unmistakable figure of Batman beside her. They were holding hands and below she had written, _"For Bruce. Thank you for the box. I love you."_

He couldn't break contact with the piece. He stared at it as if it might burst into flames at any second or be carried out with a gust of wind. If anything happened to that piece, it would be a disaster. He noticed something. That piece coupled with the notes on the piano sent a shock through him. Even in his middle age, the question rose again. What would it be like to raise a child? He had not thought about it in his station. And he had resigned himself to a life of solitude – excluding the upbringing of Dick and Tim – but they were older, and _boys_.

He had spent hours and hours on end pondering her fate. Would he keep her? Would she be safe from the threat of the Joker? Even after his deathbed, would he pose a risk through his mad lover? The questions piled up. The answers were far fewer. Some days, Bruce thought the whole situation would be mitigated if he didn't know that she was in fact, the Joker's child. If that was the source of all his hesitation to reach out to her, then he should be ashamed. To base an opinion on someone based on their parentage was appalling. But, as he thought more about it – he was guilty of it.

His colleagues in the league would think him heartless. Some already did. He did not blame them. With some of his actions, he sometimes believed he was himself. But it was with his heart that he became Batman. Why was it so difficult to accept someone who came from such a dark past?

Then, he realized.

He and – this progeny – were two sides of the same coin, only she didn't know it.

How could he have not seen it? How could he have been so blind? Their pasts were linked together in not only battles in physical but in light and dark. The dark past of her father matched with his parents. She was not Richard Grayson, but she was a person capable of being so. She was only six! She was almost a fresh slate. And she didn't remember anything.

The pieces all came together.

This. Could. Work.

"_Tit-Willow, Tit-Willow, Tit-Willow…"_

Suddenly, the desire to place her in a foster home melted away like the rain on the window. It was a new feeling for him, staring at her drawings and listening to her fiddle with the piano keys. He didn't want her to leave. _He wanted her to stay._

* * *

><p>Bruce sat at his desk in his small study upstairs. His chin rested on his hand as he pressed against his cheek, making it distort his face in an unmannerly way. He was deep in thought and had been for the past hour. It was always the same.<p>

If he kept her, what would he name her? Alfred was right. A month she had lived there and he had neglected to find her a name. She must have thought him heartless too. He could give her any name, but something held him back. He felt that any name wouldn't suit. It would have to be meaningful. He didn't have practice naming children. They always had a fixed name. The name always seemed to suit them. Always made sense. What to call her?

He gazed up at his mother and father's portrait hanging over the fireplace. With a black background serving as a contrast, their bright faces enlivened the picture more. They each wore a small smile on their faces, as if bearing the secret to being the perfect human being. They were such good people. Such an example. Especially his mother. She was the heart of Gotham's philanthropy. Every event, every cause was attributed to her planning and love. Her being led the city into its reach programs. Ever since the incident he wanted to follow in their moral footsteps. Become like them, and support the campaign against crime.

An idea struck.

He reached into his filing cabinet and pulled out a folder with some of his parents' legal documents from years ago. One of which was their marriage certificate. He examined it and stared at their names.

_Thomas Bruce Wayne_ and _Martha Josephine Kane_

….Martha Josephine Kane…

…Josephine Kane…

That was it. He wrote the name down and thought of the little girl downstairs. It fit.

From here on out, she would be Josephine Kane.

* * *

><p>There was nothing to console the weeping madwoman on the second floor of the cell in Arkham Asylum. She had been weeping for a solid two weeks. Since the moment she turned herself in. The guards flew past her cell, not willing to look at her wet blonde hair and raw face turned ragged by the amount of tears spoiling her looks.<p>

Hideous sobs broke over her as she sat there, moaning for her dead child to come back to her and wishing that things could have been different. Wishing that she could have been there to save her. That _he_ could have been there to save her. To save _them_.

No. He had left them alone. He was dead. Gone. It was all thanks to Batman. He didn't save her Puddin'. In fact, it could even be said that he killed the Joker.

She knew it. The vengeance crept into her veins like a silent killer. The lust for blood was strong. But when she thought of her little girl in a grave, she was sent into hysterics once again. There was no one for her now. No one to help her.

She was on her own.

Violent thoughts surrounded her. A long pin she smuggled in with her stuck out of her mattress. She retrieved it and held the icy metal between her fingers. If there was nothing she could do anymore. No one she could serve, uphold the legacy of, perhaps it was time to leave it all behind….

She raised the pin. It was long enough. Sharp enough. It would do the job.

Her ragged breaths deepened as the pin traveled closer to her bodice. Her heart palpitated. Thump, thump…thump thump….thump thump…

She grit her teeth for the pain, but the weapon slipped from her fingers and clinked on the floor. She fell forward, her face touching her knees as she held herself as the sobs came again. They were softer but the pain was still there. That heavy pain. There was nothing she could do. No purpose anymore. But she couldn't end it.

Perhaps she could find the healing elsewhere. She didn't know. Something held her back. Only she couldn't stick the pin. She just couldn't.


	5. Argument & Process

**Another Woden's Day Special! Hoo-rah! I did two in a row, so that is really beating up my free editing time. This might be the last for a little while. Yesterday, I had the fun experience of being immunized for college. That was a joyous afternoon. Four shots. Three in one arm. Yeah…**

**I forgot to mention that the song featured in the last chapter was called "On a Tree by a River," a classic – and one of my favorites – of the Gilbert and Sullivan production, The Mikado. I might be using more of it.**

**Thanks, guys!**

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><p>"How would you like to stay with me?" Bruce asked Josephine over dinner that evening.<p>

She lowered her fork slowly, forehead creasing.

He had prepared to make a better speech but being a man of few words, decided to go with the more blatant approach. She was young, why make things more complicated than they already were? He wanted to ask her.

"Here? With you?" She lowered her spoon into her soup.

Alfred stood in the corner, beholding the moment in his silent way. A small smile crossed his lips.

Bruce nodded his head at her. "Yes, with me. You can stay here as my ward. I can take care of you." He paused and added, "I _want_ to take care of you." He watched her expression wander away. About what, he could only guess. Him? Something she had seen? Her parents…

From the month she stayed with him, Bruce noticed that Josephine had a rather large sense of things around her. For such a young girl, she was very aware of emotion and events. She obviously took this one a huge offer due to here silence. It intrigued him. His enemy's daughter was a bright star already. If she stayed with him, maybe he could keep her from turning into the darker part of herself – that part he knew was somewhere, deep down, hiding.

"I would stay with you…forever?"

"If you want to. It's up to you. If you don't," he bit back the words _I can't protect you_. "…there are others who were thinking about taking you in. I asked about some families willing to take in a foster child. They were looking forward to it."

"I-I don't want to disappoint them…or anyone really…." Her gaze flickered to him, then to Alfred.

"You won't. The decision is up to you. I know it's a big step, but you will be happy. At least, I'll try to make it as best as I can." The was a silence. Bruce rubbed his palms. "You….know what I have to do every night."

Josephine nodded hesitantly. She wet her lips cautiously and opened her mouth to say something, but stopped.

Bruce lifted a wine glass for a taste but ceased the action when he noticed this. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Josephine? Are you all right?"

She lowered her eyes. "I'm…I don't know."

"You don't know about staying here? Or about the families?"

"I don't know about anything….I don't know about me…"

There it was.

That was the foreboding subject he did not want to trespass. Did she know about her father before? She had to have known about her mother, but children often don't know their mother's first names at such a young age. They don't think about those things. That seemed like the beauty of this plan. She wouldn't know. With her youth and the added amnesia, there was doubt that she could be reminded of her lineage with a name. But, there could be a case when she was the exception. Never cancel the possibility. Bruce could hope that Harley was not filling her head with bedtime stories about her and the Joker. It was likely. But how to cover this subject?

"What do you mean?"

Josephine gripped her napkin and began to tear it in two. "I mean…what about my parents? Are they still here? Are they…here?"

The last thing Bruce wanted was to deceive her, but this plan was not the kind that could go without a lie. He had to make the hard decision to decide on a fate for her imaginary parents. He had to stall time to make it look like he was searching for them.

"I don't know. I've been looking into it. There doesn't seem to be anyone missing someone. No reports or anything. At least matching your description."

Josephine sunk back into her chair, sullen. "But, someone had to… want me? Anyone? I come from somewhere. I didn't come out of the earth…" she said in her small voice.

"I don't think there is anyone." The feeling in his gut grew. That sour feeling, but knowing that if he backed down, he could lose her. "I'll keep looking, but if I can't find anyone, will you say yes?"

She mashed her lips together and looked at him. She held his gaze a couple of seconds then nodded.

His gaze wandered over her, knowing that it was hesitant, but it was an answer. At least she had decided. She had to come willingly. She couldn't trust him if he forced her. That feeling went away a little bit. At least, he could be with her through all the trials of life. Those hard years where all he had was Alfred to comfort him. Alfred was his lifesaver. Perhaps he could repay the favor with Josephine.

"Good."

* * *

><p>Leslie Thompkins was summoned to the manor again for a routine checkup. She was happy to see Josephine again. Happier that she finally got a name. It was strange seeing her and calling her by…whatever it was she actually called. She didn't think she even referred her to anything. The feeling sunk.<p>

She was let in by Alfred, who was courteous without even mentioning it.

It took some time, but the initial shock she felt over the…_information_…slowly disappeared. Not to say that when her eyes clasped on the girl again that she felt nothing. But while talking to her she forgot about it. The Joker didn't flash to mind with the sweet smile radiating off her face. Nothing now. She was used to it.

Bruce came to talk about something important, something that he dared not share with anyone else. She was intrigued. But she also had room for concern. If it surrounded Josephine, which it probably did, she wondered how it could affect her. If there was something that could harm her, she would stand in the way. She was fiercely protective of her now. Nothing could stop her. Not even Bruce.

After visiting with Josephine awhile, Bruce coaxed her away into a separate room and locked the door. He checked to make sure no one was outside and hovered over his desk to continue. The doctor's hands throbbed in anxiety. She bit her lip and waited patiently for some question that might be the end. If in fact, Josephine was being sent somewhere, she wanted to make sure it was right for her. Not some foster home where the parents collected the money for their own selfish needs. She already had to deal with that with some of her own patients…

"Bruce, you called me in for something specific. Don't argue, I can tell. If it's about Josephine, you should know that I'm not about to abandon her to the will of someone we've never met. If there is a person in mind, tell me. I want to meet them. I want to know who they are before-"

"Leslie, I'm not going to give her up to anyone. If anything, this is about the opposite."

The doctor held her tongue. Oh, that changed things… She had hoped he would. It was what she wanted. She smiled up at him. Finally he had seen the light of things. At last they agreed on something. "I'm happy for you Bruce. I think you're doing the right thing. She's such a sweet little thing when you get to know her."

"She's been getting some piano lessons. I hear she's very talented. But this isn't entirely a happy matter." He paused. "The project I wanted to ask you about is something related to Josephine, but also about her past."

"What would I know about that? You know what I know. What is the point in all this?" She was getting nervous. What was he up to?

"Her past presents…difficulties…"

"I can see that, but what is the point in saying what we already know?"

"You still don't see where I'm getting."

"I'm certainly not."

"The past itself cannot be changed. But the matter of her remembering it…can be."

Dr. Thompkins sucked in deeply. Hiding it? What did he think she was? She was no liar. She couldn't unashamedly tell the girl anything other than the truth, no matter how painful. She blamed medical school. It had to make her so strong to toughen in any situation. This wasn't needles. Not an immunization shot to a baby that was for its own good. That was far from different.

"That isn't right."

"I'm not trying to answer the question of what is right and wrong, I'm thinking about her upbringing. What good would it do if she knew everything? If she knew all about her childhood. It would devastate her."

"How would you know that? Nothing ventured nothing gained."

"She needs something good."

Her jaw fell. "She _can_ be something good. We don't grow from the roots of our parents, Bruce. We fall from the tree and grow away from the parent on our own. You have to let her have that full knowledge." Dr. Thompkins leaned away from him, sturdy in her debate. She was not about to stop now.

"I can't do that. What if it jogs the rest of her memory? What progress would be made, then?"

"Progress? Bruce, you can't think about it like that. It isn't progress. The truth may not be something we want to hear but it is beneficial to know anyway."

"I need you to do something for me."

"Bruce…"

"IS there a drug that can perhaps –"

" – No! I know what you're up to. I won't do that. It isn't right. You know that."

"It may sound that way now, but you need to hear it from my side."

"This better be a strong point, because otherwise my objection is final."

"My knowing that my parents were killed by a mugger drove me to become Batman. If Josephine learns that her father was the Joker and mother, Harley Quinn, what kind of impact do you think that will have on her? She might think it is a good idea to avenge her father or uphold his title. The memories, and I know there are some because Harley would never not tell her child about her father, will come back. Once again, Gotham will be in danger. She will be in danger. What do you expect me to do? Stand by and watch her die like her father? I can't do that again, Leslie."

The doctor noted the sudden sadness in his face when he spoke of his ex-arch foe. Whether from his failure or…something else…she couldn't decide. Otherwise, his death had a heavy effect on the Dark Knight and Leslie was at moral ends to deciding what she should do. Bruce held that knowledge of the mindset of one so young, so impressionable. Thomas was a friend, but she did not always agree with Bruce on his decisions, though in general, they proved correct.

There was one thing about the Waynes' death that forced her into action: Bruce. She had to fight, if it did mean medicine and the war on drugs. Had to contribute something to set an example. Could she have been an influence on him as his alter ego? Presumably not. But she did know that face of tragedy that was death and its unholy grip on the people around her.

She sighed. Her morals buckled beneath her sending her soul into a clasp on a chain held by the boy she helped so long ago. "Give me time and I can get you what you want."

* * *

><p>"Josephine, I have something for you."<p>

The girl approached the pairing of Bruce and Leslie standing together. One stood there regally, offering her a smile. The other held a small plastic tube with little pills in it.

"Josephine," began the doctor. "I know that you're a good girl and…" she looked to Bruce. "That is why I need you to listen closely. These," she held up the bottle, "are very important. Never ever lose them." She shook the bottle, sending the medicine into a brief moment of rapid shivers. "You have to take _two_ a day. One in the morning and one at night. You have to do this every day. Understand?"

Josephine nodded. Her eyebrows crossed themselves. "But, what will happen if I don't? What do the pills do?"

"I can tell you that they will help you with your head injury." She inwardly sighed. It wasn't a complete lie. She sense the choking in her voice and prayed that Josephine didn't pick up on it. The last thing she needed was to break down in front of a six-year-old. "You know you hit your head hard, right? H-how is it feeling?"

Josephine brushed the spot hairline delicately, where a small scar hid. Her forehead creased. "It's fine. It used to hurt but not anymore. I think I'm getting better." The sides of mouth turned up. Her eyes glimmered with the childish nature she'd seen in a thousand patients, but in none so much she pitied as Josephine Kane. Her father and mother's traits lived on inside her. Medicine or not. That was what would happen. And she couldn't change that.

The doctor nodded furiously, licking her lips to hold back a sudden sob. "Okay…that's good. That's good." She looked to Bruce. His dark eyes locked onto hers. He nodded. She supposed that it was of approval, which she turned away instantly, not willing to look into his gaze any longer. She just couldn't.

"Josephine, would you go into the kitchen and see if Alfred made anything for you? I think Dr. Thompkins might need a moment alone." He flashed a smile.

She nodded. "Uh huh." Before she left, she muttered a quiet, "'bye, Dr. Thompkins. I hope you feel better."

Once the door was closed, the emotion ripped out. The floodgates opened as she tried to fight the bitterness welling up inside. For her, against Bruce, for that girl….it all came out. She rummaged through her bag for a tissue but came up short. Her empty hand was furnished with a soft fabric. She muttered her thanks and turned away from the giver.

"I hope you're happy now. I hope that child is too. Even if she doesn't know what you're doing to her." She bathed her face in the handkerchief and threw out her arm behind her for him to take it. He did so wordlessly.

"I know it seems hard, Leslie, but it wasn't as easy for me as you may –"

" – Bruce, don't even start with me." She turned back with a tearstained face so distorted by time and salt that Bruce fell silent at once. "You don't know…what that may have cost. No matter how you think this may work, I don't know, but I feel that you will regret it…in the end."

Leslie felt like an old fool. Being used like that. By someone she trusted no less. Used and old. That's how she felt. Was this the reminder that retirement was imminent? That she was done in her aide in the world? A sign, perhaps. But her job was not over with that child.

As she glared into Bruce Wayne's dark eyes, she realized how she was able to be so convinced of the plot. How it felt so crucial to the world that she be able to do this…could it be named anything else…..…this task.

Bruce's eyes were something inhuman. Not necessarily evil, but something else. As warm as his heart was, he was trained to do what was necessary to survive. He had trained himself. Even if others disagreed. Even if the whole population disagreed, Bruce Wayne was still the only one who could make that unbreakable final choice. It was then that she realized that the bond he forged with the promise made years ago was more than finite. It was everlasting.

Bruce Wayne would forever be Batman.


	6. Now & Later

**Thanks for the reads, guys! I'm sorry this is a day late, but there were circumstances. Prom can be a very busy day in a young person's life. And that is all I'll say. Yeah, last night was a late night so I didn't get back until morning. Sorry:(**

**Nevertheless, here is the next chapter.**

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><p>January 2022<p>

_after the Christmas encounter…_

"Don't think because Bruce Wayne lets you live here that I have to love you!" spat Damian as he screamed over Josephine's head whilst she flew into the yard. Her long braid trailed behind her as she became like a bird and huddled into a place he couldn't find her. This was a habit she had taken to doing in the last month. Damian lost his temper, she fled, he would look for her, and she would avoid him at all costs.

"Come on out, you witch!"

She climbed up a tree and waited for him to get bored and leave. That moment may not happen for a while, but she could hope for it soon enough. He wouldn't leave today. It was harder. From her place, she spied his brown face searching the grounds for her, his body erect from years of training, abrasive and foul. She tugged on her intricate braid, swinging it over her shoulder until it rested over her collarbone and down her front. With two hands, she grazed the middle, comforted by its familiarity. She breathed deeply, hoping that he would soon lose interest.

Overhead, she listened to the birds. Chirp, chirp. But it was more than that. Their songs sung over the morning and into the night. She closed her eyes and let them fill her up and calm her. Damian had not been as a welcoming brother as she thought. Every day it was the same routine. The teasing, the bullying. Only with him…it was much worse. It was more than what she experienced at the Academy. Girls teased her there; she didn't quite fit into the mesh of the other kids. Sure, she had the same opportunities as they did, but she was…different to them. They didn't take her or her to them.

"You're too smart for them," Alfred had remarked while cleaning the antiques. His feather duster swift effortlessly over the priceless pottery and paintings.

"Really," she answered, none too thrilled that that was it. It didn't seem right, but she did feel that she was above them in her classes. She was in the honors classes. Her teachers even mentioned the possibility of skipping grades. She was in fourth grade at the moment, but one teacher in particular was fighting for her.

Barbara Gordon had taken a teaching position at Gotham Academy when feeling cooped up in her home was too much. That was what she complained to Josephine when she gave her explanations over dinner one night. Josephine liked it when people came to visit. At least, people she knew and had become familiar with. Oracle was one. Dr. Thompkins was another. She was older, but nice to her. She was talking about retirement one night when Josephine intervened.

"_Quitting? But you can't stop now! There are other people who need help. Your help!"_

_The doctor offered her a small smile. "My help? My dear girl, there are many doctors in the world capable of helping." She cocked her head to one side. "Granted, there are few that would take arms in the deserts and desolate places to help the truly incapacitated. Most these days are scrounging for their paycheck. Starving," she said, holding up her index finger. "That's the way to know whether or not you've got the stuff to be a real doctor." She took a drink._

"_But…you're a real doctor. They need your help."_

"_I know, but my time on this earth can't last forever. We've got to make the most of it while we still can." Josephine could have sworn the doctor glanced at Alfred when she made the statement. She wondered what that meant. _

The Quitting Game made her sick. She couldn't quit. There wasn't room to. If there were people who needed help, someone else would have to. Dr. Thompkins couldn't leave without someone to take their place to aide others in whatever personal war they were fighting. Medical, physical, psychological…the list went on and on! She just couldn't sit back.

Maybe she could apply this to her station with Damian. He wasn't a particularly nice person, but maybe if she was nice back, he might warm up to her. So far, her attempts to woo him to her favor had not worked nicely. But she had to keep telling herself that it was only a matter of time.

One day it would all stop. One day.

But at least she had Bruce. There could be a future.

* * *

><p>Josephine ate like a pigeon when dinner came. Damian spooned his dinner in like a savage. She tried copying him in spite, but that only made Bruce angry. She hated to see him like this. He wasn't like this before Damian came. Sometimes, she just wanted to take a piece from the house and smash him over the head with it…<p>

No. That was bad. She couldn't think like that. No matter what, she had to be the better person. That was what Bruce always told her. _Be the better person._

It was hard when the other person could be so moronic and uncultured. She couldn't even call his name without him screaming at her, calling her an infidel, or whatever insult he had planned for the day. It was perturbing.

His voice called her out of her thoughts. He was saying something in Arabic to her. His rudeness never ceased. She had never studied it. Spanish, French, and Russian were the only other languages besides English that she could speak proficiently. He knew this full well. When she looked over at Bruce, he continued to eat.

_So that's how its going to be, Bruce?_

"What are you looking at?" Asked Damian at dinner.

"You were talking, weren't you?"

"Was I?" he asked with a cruel smirk. "I didn't think you understood _good_ languages."

"Nothing," she replied. She hadn't realized he had been staring at him.

"Oh really? Learn your place. Little Runt."

"Damian," said Bruce's powerful voice, "That's enough. You don't speak like that to her, you understand me?"

"Why should I? She's nothing here. I'm the son."

"You might be that, but you're not the one to make the judgment about others here. We're all equals and I don't care about what ideas your _grandfather_ had been filling up in your head."

Josephine had heard a little about his lineage. She spooned another mouthful of soup in and wondered about him. He was from the Al Ghul line. It was an honor to be a part of it. To be the grandson of the founder. Ra's Al Ghul being the leader and starting it. She had heard that Bruce and his mother had something before. Alfred had told her a little, but stopped when he felt uncomfortable speaking of his master's life without his permission. She wasn't sure about Bruce and his mother's relationship. That part was still a bit fuzzy. "Understand?"

The boy sneered at his father. "Yes, Mr. Wayne."

That part of the boy's behavior astounded Josephine. Weren't children supposed to call their parents by "mom," or "dad?" That was the norm. Damian never did that. Occasionally he would refer to Bruce as father. But it wasn't exactly in the most pleasant of tones. She guessed he didn't get to call his mother anything since she wasn't around. That much she got from Alfred later in the evening.

"So, he's like me? He doesn't have a mother? What happened to her?"

Alfred had stopped dusting to look her over. "Something bad, Josephine. I do not feel right discussing it with you. You will have to talk to Master Damian about it." He continued.

"Alfred, do you like him?"

"Master Damian?"

"Yes. The gypsy."

"I don't think he enjoys being called that."

"I saw, but I can't help it. He looks like one. At least, from what I've seen in pictures. He has the same dark skin."

"Many people have that shade of skin. I might not want to go around calling people gypsies."

"Is it a bad thing? I thought that's what they were called."

"Sometimes it is. If you are that. Master Damian comes from an ancient line. It is something mysterious to us, but we know he's very proud of it. Some may say he had a dangerous upbringing."

"Do you say that?"

Alfred paused for a second. His face had a far-off look. He resumed his practice. "Yes, I think so."

"What else do you think about him?"

"Me? Why ask me?"

"You're my closest friend here Alfred. I like hearing what you think. It's always _enlightening_ and _informative_."

"Did you learn those words in school?"

"Oh, long ago. But I like to keep in practice. Do I sound _presumptuous_?" She grinned.

"No, you sound _intellectual_." He smiled. She liked it when he joked with her. Sometimes he would drop a witty line around Bruce but wouldn't always chat too long with him. It was only when they went down to the Bat Cave that she thought they ever talked. She never heard. She only went down during training sessions.

"So what do you think?"

"Hmmm?"

"_Alfred_…"

"I think he's a troubled boy. He needs something else. He's come to learn from his father. He wants the skills, the technology. He thinks he needs it for his grandfather but I really think he needs something deeper."

"What's that?"

He stopped. "Friendship."

Josephine quirked an eyebrow. "Really? That's all? I can give him that. I've been trying, but it hasn't been working."

"He's a hard nut to crack. Keep working on him. I'm sure he'll come around eventually."

"I hope so. I was looking forward to a brother. I want him to know that I like him a little." She lowered her head. "As long as he doesn't call me names anymore." Her voice lowered. "I don't like that." She paused. "You think I should talk to Bruce about…you know…"

"Today?"

"Yes, sooner better than later."

Alfred walked over to her, face slightly falling. He tried to correct it with a weak smile. He patted her on the shoulder. "Trying is always the key. If you think you have a chance. By all means, do it."

* * *

><p>Bruce's study was somewhere he escaped to when he didn't feel like going to the Bat Cave. Some evenings he hauled himself up in the room littered in cabinets with his company paperwork and other important documents.<p>

She knocked softly. "_Come in_," Bruce murmured through the hardwood.

She entered and moved closer to the person behind the desk. A stack of papers stood in front of them. She wasn't sure what it was all about. She only hoped that he would listen to her proposition.

"Hey Bruce," she began in her little girl voice.

He nodded gruffly. A thin sheet in each hand, he sorted them into their proper piles while she waited in silence. A few minutes passed with only the echo of shuffling spaces as filler.

"Bruce, there's something I want to talk to you about." She shuffled her weight to her other foot. He glanced up for a moment, but looked down almost as soon as she had opened her mouth.

"Josephine, I'm busy right now."

"But it's really–"

" – Josephine! Mmm….please can this wait? I need time to work here."

"But you're always working!" She stood on her tiptoes for greater height. She felt so small compared to Bruce. She was little, but hoped to fill out when she got older. Hopefully it was only a matter of time. "You're so stressed about everything. I came to talk to you. Can you please listen to me?"

Bruce rocked back in his hair. His hand bathed his face. "What is it?"

Josephine's eyebrows knitted together. Her teeth tugged at her corner lip. Green eyes narrowed on him. "It's him, isn't it? He's making you like this!"

Bruce removed his hand. "It isn't anyone. I'm always busy. I have responsibilities. You know that. I have to take care of people and this." He gestured to the papers. "There's a lot more involved than you may think."

"It isn't that. You know it isn't. Ever since he came here, there wasn't enough time to spend together."

"He's only been here for a month."

"He's been here long enough."

"Josephine," He began, tone lowered. "That boy is my son. I said I have people to take care of. He's one of them. As are you. Don't forget that."

"You know what he does to me…he's not like anybody I've met. I've tried to be nice, but he doesn't like me at all. He hates me. I can't make him like me."

"Is that what you came here to talk to me about?"

"No…actually it's not."

"What else could be wrong?"

Josephine took a deep breath. She was kind of disappointed that he hadn't noticed the paper in her hand. "This..." she handed it to him. There was a look of desperation crossing her face that she couldn't hide.

The paper crinkled in Jospehine's grasp - little fingers making imprints in the snow pages. The sound caught Bruce's attention; his eyes eyes traced down her arm to the object in question.

"What is that?"

She didn't reply. A bit lip was what she had accomplished in the small argument. The metallic taste water down her tongue. She handed him the typed pages and watched eagerly as he balanced it lightly in hand, slowly moving his gaze from his ward to it. His eyes moved in a horizontal frenzy as they engulfed the words.

Jospehine gripped the hem of her shirt and stood by. Bruce looked her up and down when he was finished.

He cautiously thumbed through the pages. "Josephine," he lay the small booklet on the table. Fingers folded themselves into a bridge. "I can't…do this right now."

"Because of him?" Her eyes imbedded into his visage, taking in every feature of his face. He stared straight at her, but was holding back something. Something that was crucial to this conversation that she felt like he wasn't saying. "Why, does he have the power to decide whether or not I can be a part of this family?"

Bruce huffed. "He probably wished that. But no, he doesn't. I mentioned before that I have a duty to him?"

She nodded briskly, features still in an angry form.

"Damian…is not under control. As you have seen firsthand."

She allowed a small eye roll as a sign of understanding. Damian was completely out of control. He was abrasive, shallow, ruthless, and heartless as well. Nothing that boy did was ever to the point of something. He was vengeful. He hated everyone. If one person was out of line, his first thought was to kill them. Darwinism ruled out every situation. Forgiveness was out of the question.

"He needs training. Not the physical kind," he put his hands up, "the emotional. He needs to see through the eyes of those who live here. Those more forgiving than his. If he doesn't learn, I can't keep him here. I can't send him back either. I won't know what to do with him."

Josephine could tell that this was causing a great amount of pain for her guardian, but that was beside the point. An eyebrow raised, she couldn't be deterred from her plans. "And why does he have to come between you and the pen? I mean, no offense Bruce, but it seems like you're only making excuses. Damian isn't going to care either way. He's never going to be happy. I've tried to be nice to him, but he hates me. But maybe if I was his sister, he might listen to me. We could give it a shot. And if it doesn't work…you can still have me. So, the question is: do you love me enough as a daughter?"

Bruce gripped Josephine's hands together, starting her fiercely in the face. "I can't adopt you, Josephine. I just…can't. Not now."

"Do you love me at all?" She asked. Her green eyes dared to release salty tears any second.

"…I do, Josephine. Don't think otherwise. I just can't…"

"You just can't adopt me," she finished. She removed her hand from his and stared down at the floor. Her face fell into a somber sadness. "Thank you for your consideration," she said in a small voice, and left with a door slam.


	7. Battles & Truces

**This one is dedicated to AylaAbbs for being the first to review! Thanks girl!**

Josephine slammed the door to her room, staggering backwards as she glared daggers into the white polished surface. A lone tear ran down her cheek. Her face already began its transformation from its usual whiteness into a hot pink stain. Burning erupted around her eyes; she scratched them furiously, moaning loudly. The throbbing in her head did not seem to stop.

"_I can't Josephine…I just can't…"_

"Liar!" She picked up something – a book – and hurled it into the wall, landing with a loud thud. It did not satisfy. Something else – she needed something breakable. There! It was a picture of her and Bruce taken a while back. Perhaps a year ago. It was tiny, barely fitting into a sliver frame she had made herself. She sat on the bed with the picture gripped in her hands. He had taken her fishing. He held up a catch and she held up a small hook. He _held_ that catch, but it was _hers_. She got it in one try with her special bait. She took hours to research it, finding the perfect specimen to catch the best.

That was her catch. It was _hers_! The frame hurled like a star into her window, shattering both glasses. Her eyes were mesmerized by each tiny piece of glass as it seemed to rain down in slow motion and stop on the ground – some bouncing off, others staying idle, enflamed with the remaining sun off its ragged edges.

Her fists gripped at her side, she tasted blood in her mouth again, but she didn't care. _Another! Another!_ Her mind cried. _I like it! Again! Again!_

Her wild eyes flicked over the room, absorbing everything in seconds. Her breath quickened. "What else?" She whispered, an unknown force grappled her. Her arm brushed the cold gold handle to her side table drawer. Her eyes wandered over it. Fingers itched towards the gold and wrapped themselves around it, rolling out the compartment with little effort. She reached into the drawer and pulled out the medication. The plastic bottle was room temperature in her touch, unaffected…unnoticed. The cylinder fit perfectly in her palm as it rose to her eye level. It was so small, so full of essentials, so full of something that would help her…she wanted to destroy it!

Another swift thrust of her arm sent the bottle across the room into the white wall. _Knock_! The force opened the bottle: vomiting white pills like a firecracker.

Like pins, they clinked as they dropped one by one. Josephine was relishing the sound when a knock at the door interrupted.

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

Josephine glowered at the portal once more. It was Bruce, she was afraid of what she might do. She could attack him, if she so wished to. Her fingers curled cruelly. _Come on, Bruce. Come on. I'll show you what I'm made of. I don't need anything you give me. It isn't worth it now._

"Miss Josephine? What is going on in there?"

Alfred.

Josephine unclenched her hands. Feelings of hatred a the door melted away, leaving her washed out. She hung her head and sighed. "Come in, Alfred."

_Clink_. Alfred stepped into the room with empty hands. Josephine stood there, suddenly not feeling well as she glanced at her destruction.

"What happened…what have you done?"

She wrapped her arms around herself – head cocked defiantly. "It didn't go as I wanted."

Alfred pursed his lips. "I was afraid so." He stood next to her. She didn't acknowledge this and kept starting at the broken window. "I am sorry, Josephine. Perhaps now is not the best time. Perhaps another…"

"No!" she screamed. "It's not going to be the right time for him. He doesn't want me! I'm just a charity case to him." She admitted weaker than she wished. Her voice cracked in some parts. "He doesn't love me like I thought..."

"Master Bruce does care for you, whether you know it or not." Alfred placed a hand on her shoulder. "He has his ways."

"He told me. I don't know if I believe him." She sighed, not willing to admit the possibility. "Maybe Damian's right. Maybe...I don't belong here. I'm an orphan. I'm not like Dick and Tim. At least they knew their parents. I don't. I never did. We're all orphans, but they have the memories to look back on. I _can't_ remember!"

She hugged herself more and let the tears stream once again. That mysterious chaotic self started enticing her to it again. She gritted her teeth against it. _No, not here, not with Alfred. He can't see that…._

"What's _wrong_ with me?"

Alfred enveloped her in a strong hug. He stroked her hair and whispered that everything was okay. Everything was okay. "Nothing is wrong with you. You listen to me. Absolutely nothing is wrong with you."

She whimpered and became weak with exhaustion. The night would come. Bruce would leave. All would be silent.

As she held Alfred, he tensed suddenly and pulled away. "What?" she asked.

"Those," he pointed to the pills. "You can't stop taking those, Josephine. They help you."

She ran a hand under her nose. "I don't need his medicine."

"You have to take it. If not for Master Bruce, for me." He held her face and brushed some of the hair and tears from her face. "They help you stay better. You sustained brain damage that can only be help with those pills." The look her gave her filled her with warmth. He spoke more kindness than anyone else. She loved Alfred so much. He was her grandfather to her. She gave him another hug. "I don't want anything to happen to you, Miss Kane."

Tears pricked her eyes. "Okay, I won't do it again. I promise. I want to get better."

"You already are. Stay that way," he whispered to her. She didn't entirely know what he meant, but kept hugging him.

* * *

><p>Damian sharpened his knife in his room. The night was quiet. He listened to only the thoughts in his head. Familiar phrases instilled in him crept into his conscience. His grandfather instilled the morals he needed to survive in this world. Morals needed to become the Demon Prince. The huntresses taught him the art of fighting. Blades were your friends. Never trust a stranger. Remember your rank. Protect yourself at all costs. <em>Competitors must be silenced.<em>

_Scrape_.

He sliced the dagger across the grinding stone – nearly catching his finger. No matter. Pain would only bring him satisfaction of a stronger fighter.

Yes, he saw how his father treated the girl over him. Over his own flesh and blood. Was he so easy to cast over? That meant something to Damian. It meant a great deal. The way was father to son. Not father to trifling street rat.

_Scrape_.

No, he was there for a purpose. He craved his father's knowledge. Nightfall was soon. He would be Robin. In the morning he would become the Jackal…

* * *

><p>Josephine meddled in the Bat Cave. As part of her training, she was charged with following the electric lines and insuring that they were running properly. The generator was located on one of the cliffs in the Bat Cave, just above the main floor. Nimble fingers grazed the hazardous circuitry of the lighting fixtures. A textbook lay in front of her turned to the chapter titled "Electricity and its Bright Nature." She followed each plug with deft eyes fixed on the task. Her gaze moved between the rewiring and the text – her finger sliding under the lines as she scanned them.<p>

"…_for the following red or blue plugs…"_

She matched them.

"_...in order to accomplish…"_

Another change was made. Since the beginning of her stay, Josephine dabbled greatly in technology. Learning about the concepts that made the Bat Cave the truly most interesting hideout was the first step to understanding a whole world of opportunity in changing the way she looked at engineering. Digging deeper into the textbooks, drowning in machinery…it was like a dream. The familiar buzz of electricity isolated her. Being buried under the circuitry was almost a religious experience – calming, against the effects of the outside world.

Her thoughts flowed endlessly. _The circuitry needs to be rewired….a chance of rain today….Valentine's Day is coming up…..we've just confirmed a sighting of the burglar…the Pythagorean theorem is a squared plus b squared equals c squared….Batman has caught the robber in midflight…I'm sorry...not now…._

She found the bolt she was trying to fix, reaching up to tighten it; a hissing came hot and fast. Barely having time to react, Josephine threw herself flat on her stomach.

_Clang_.

She pushed herself up. What the hell was that? She gripped the wrench nervously as she view a knife imbedded into the wall in front of her in the path where her neck was only two seconds ago. Her breath caught as she heard a noise above and a figure rustled.

Damian dropped from a higher cliff lunged at herm nearly kicking her in the head. She dodged and he went for her shoulders, pushing her down in the process.

"What are you doing?" she screamed.

A cruel smile crossed his lips. "Nothing that is going to matter." He almost punched her, but she rolled out of the way, using her wrench to hit him in the arm. He cried out and staggered back, twisting his dagger out of stone.

Josephine recalled every moment of training Bruce ever gave her. Stand your ground. Be flexible. She awaited his attack, thankful for a weapon.

He started for her again, running side to side so she couldn't guess where he would attack from. He was much faster than she anticipated. The blade swiped several times. In her attempts to dodge, she was cut across the arms three times. She winced and left out a moan as the blood trickled down. He held the dagger upside down and tried to stab her but she rolled onto the floor, bringing him to her level as he stabbed multiple times, hitting stone each time. She backwards somersaulted into a stand. He tried to strike again, but she blocked it with her wrench. It didn't stop the blade from dipping down and slicing into her wrist. Her grip loosened on the weapon, and he high kicked it so quick she hardly had time to think before it fell twenty feet below them to the main floor.

Damian punched her in the head and pushed her to the ground again, taking his knife and tried to stab her in the chest, but she caught it in her hands and pushed it away from her body. Her right arm was weaker from the earlier blow. She sunk into a deeper dizziness. But she knew if she let go of the knife, she would never get it far enough away. She concentrated on getting it farther back. Damian put all his strength into forcing it down until they were in a locked draw.

Josephine's neck pulsed painfully as she was pressed further into the cliff's vertices. Her neck had to be dented or bruised of some sort from the pain as her head lolled over the edge like a ragdoll. For a moment, her gaze followed the cliff's edge down to the crevice below them. If she were to fall backwards right then, she would disappear into undiscovered levels and never be seen again.

Soon, she let out a small cry as her energy began to slip. Her arms throbbed from strain. She shook uncontrollably as the little bolt of force left kept her alive. As a last resort, she pushed the knife aside for half a second – long enough for her to bite down on his dominant hand.

He hissed. Her throat had his fingers on them in the next second. Her head drained blood once it was brought down on the stone again. The sticky wetness dibbled down the back. Damian dragged her from the edge and lifted her over the side, sending her flying over the lower level. So badly she wanted to close her eyes so she couldn't see the blow, but she knew she had to watch. That small instinctive part of her told her to keep them open and look for a way to land. Avoid the crevice. Avoid the crevice.

When she came to the bottom, she somersaulted on the stone to prevent further injury. Her arm screamed when the pressure applied. Stone met wounded skin in a fiery spasm. Damian leapt from his spot and followed her example, but landed without much injury. He wielded his knife, a smirk across his face.

"You're dead, street trash."

She held one of her arms nervously. Was this it? Was death around the corner? Dying so young, it frightened her. This could really be it. Life was so precious. She shook herself out of those thoughts. No, this wasn't the time to give in. There was always a chance. She could still fight until her body would give out.

"You don't scare me," she spat.

"I have a knife. You don't. I'm curious as to how this is going to turn out." His index finger slid over the sharpened tool. "Prepare to die."

He launched towards her, but this time, Josephine did prepare herself. Rather than stare at him blur before her and take in unnecessary wounds, she pulled together all her focus. Her eyes traced parts of his body where there could be some weak spot. A joint or pressure point could bring him down long enough to disarm him. That was the first undertaking. Get that knife away from him. As he performed his side step routine, she realized something.

He was going easy on her. He must have thought that using his full potential would be pointless in defeating her. She posed no physical threat and could be killed so easily. Her face burned, but she couldn't allow herself the anger yet. She had to focus on the blocking. He neared her and she quickly set out a foot, sending him tumbling to the ground. He was unsteady. Good. She sat on top of him and kicked away the knife. Gripping a mass of his hair, she bashed it into the concrete unforgivingly.

"You could have been my brother! See what I have to do with you!" She bashed again and again. A crimson stream oozed onto the gray. It was so pronounced. Hopefully it would wash off. She didn't know how many times she had to repeat the task before he seemed to be unconscious. She stopped finally and looked him over.

With his arms outstretched, he looked like a washed up dead man. A sinking feeling set in. _He shouldn't be dead. I can't have killed him. Could I?_ He tried to kill her, but something inside forced her to do it. Self-defense was the only option. But what if she had killed him? Her breath caught in her throat.

Her hand found his throat. Before she could test for a pulse…

Her back met the concrete with a painful thud. He had wrapped his back leg around and turned her over with him on top. Blood caked his face, but it did not veil the hate in his eyes. "So easy to kill me, yes?"

Her hand was still on his throat, but he had taken no notice of this. He murmured something in Arabic or another language that sounded like Spanish, but wasn't. A death prayer. For a quick one? Probably not. This would be painful. He sent his finger into her esophagus and pressed hard.

Glitter pinpricked her vision irritatingly. No, no more blackouts. No she didn't need this. Get off. Something was going on in her brain that she didn't understand. Whether from lack of oxygen, or the human intention to live, she didn't know. Only that she was remarkably sparked by the chocking was suddenly pumped with adrenaline.

Thrusting herself forward, she bit into his wrist and roughly pushed him onto the concrete. She then pressed both her thumbs into the choking nooks. Her lips peeled back and she gritted her teeth as she pressed harder and harder. His body fought, but her knees were pressed firmly into the ground, leaving no space between her legs and his body. After a few seconds his breathing roughened. He coughed loudly. Lips turning blue. Face blanched.

She continued this, the invigorated feeling growing. The life was draining from him. The threat of someone separating her from Bruce was slowly diminishing before her eyes. Her hands became a powerful tool she never thought was capable of such a feat. She was enjoying this.

A strong pair of arms clamed around her in an iron grip and wrenched her away from the asphyxiated boy. She was dragged from him at least a few meters before a blackout happened.

* * *

><p>Josephine woke in her bed, feeling strangely rejuvenated. Was it morning? What happened? She looked down. Her arms were sore, but the cuts were healing. The once raw and red portion on her arms were a soft pinks covered in bandages. Soon, they would be gone altogether. She felt the need to get up, but was still a little woozy from whatever had been done to knock her out.<p>

Then, she remembered.

Her fingers stuck into his throat. The feeling of life draining from him….enjoying the feeling of his hot skin becoming cooler as he went…

She hugged herself, curling back to the bed. She did a mental double take. What had happened? She was disgusted with herself. How had she gotten that way? Bruce said that warfare can mess with your mind, but she had never thought it would so much as to wish someone dead and almost live to kill another…it made her afraid of herself. Of what she might do.

Josephine grabbed her pill bottle and popped one in.

There was a knock at the door. If it was Bruce, she was ready to cry and plead to forgive her. She didn't mean to do it. She was just nine! What did she know? She was attacked! By his own son. It was self-defense was it not? She shivered slightly.

"Come in," she said in a small voice.

The door opened. From behind stepped a smaller figure.

Damian Wayne.

Josephine went cold. Gooseflesh broke out. Her breathing held. "Don't' you come near me, you demon…"

Walked towards her anyway. She backed into her bed and gripped the covers. "I mean it. Get out. I'll scream."

"Oh be quiet," he said. That was when she noticed he had an ice pack in his hand. He pressed it to his head. His eyes were absent of the emotions she witnessed earlier, but their intense gaze still followed through. "I'm not going to attack you."

"Says the guy who attempted murder this morning."

He raised an eyebrow. "This morning? Your head not working properly? It has been two days."

"Two days! How could I sleep that long?" she asked, momentarily forgetting who she was speaking to.

"And I wouldn't be pointing fingers on who was killing who, either."

The image of his bloody river flashed back. "If I'm such a bad person who isn't worth your time or the same oxygen you breathe, why are you in here? Come to poison me?"

"With what? No, I haven't." He strode to her place. As he neared, she leapt over the side of the bed greeted with pangs stabbing into her side, and stood, poised to fight.

"Going to attack me now?"

"Only if I have to. I don't believe anything you say." She pointed to her chest. "I tried to be kind to you – show you what friendship was, but no." The hand dropped. "You had to go and ruin it, by trying to kill me you…you _gypsy_!" She spat. Her upper lip curled back.

Damian's expression dropped from one of amiable solemnness to fury as he tried to leap over the bed, but was not quick enough to catch her as she fled near the door. He kneed his way over the comforter towards her, reaching out as if to pull her back by some mysterious force. "you will pay for that!"

Josephine hurried over to a drawer, where a weapon was hidden in case of such problems. A knife of her own. She held it behind her back when her heart pulsed rapidly; face burning in fear as he pulled her near the bed harshly. He tried her neck again, but was immediately halted when she held the knife to his own throat. She inhaled deeply. "Do it and I'll cut you this time."

The boy's eyes widened, the iris's nearly as dark as its center. They remained that way for another few moments breathing heavily and staring into each other's eyes, trying to read the other's expression. His hands slid to her sides, still holding her against the bed and she pushed the blade further into his neck, drawing a pinprick of red. His arms slid away altogether as he stepped away. She moved forward with her knife still held out stiffly. Her mouth was still drawn into a grim frown.

"You don't fail," he whispered.

"What does that mean?" she inquired harshly.

He shook his head. "I don't know, but you haven't proven me wrong. I haven't killed you. You won't let me."

"Who is going to let you kill them, Damian? Honestly, name someone who would."

"I thought it would be easy getting rid of you, but your strength and will is something I was not expecting." He paused. "You were willing to kill _me_."

"You may be Bruce's blood, but that doesn't explain anything on how he will let you stay. I know what you've done already. The people you've killed. The people you've tried to kill. You don't understand that taking lived isn't what Batman does. That's why you don't fit in here."

Damian thought for a moment, then answered, "You may have been right before. I didn't belong here. I was alone. At least, I thought I was. But then I saw what you could do. What you could be capable of…"

"I'm not a murderer."

"You're holding a knife to me now."

"You can do non-lethal damage with a knife as well."

"You still don't understand why I'm in here."

"No, I'm afraid I don't. You can leave if you want though. The door's over there." She gestured with the blade. He looked back, then at her and did something she did not expect Damian Wayne to ever do – he smiled. Not a toothy one, by far. A wane closed lip smile that barely registered as a sign of affection. Josephine doubted it was anything of the like. More so, it would be a sign of satisfaction with the completion of a hunt, his prey thoroughly traumatized.

"I was impressed with you."

_What?_

"Your abilities…what you were willing to do to survive. It captured my attention." He walked to her desk near the door. With luck, he would leave. Alas, he began to examine some things on the surface. "I think the reason I wanted to kill you was that you were worthless. You had all this," he gestured to the space, "and yet you did nothing to earn it, being picked off the street, a commoner in a home for the worthy. I thought you were nothing. But, your fighting…" he turned back to her, "impressed me."

Josephine watched him curiously. She lowered the knife but kept a firm grip on it. She kept her eye bow raised for effect. "I didn't plan for that to be the only way we could get along. In fact, I don't know how I feel about that."

"You take it as an insult?" He raised his eyebrow.

"In a way. Here, we don't take pride in being murderers."

"But you take pride in your physical abilities. That is where my…" he stopped, searching for the English to pronounce, "compliment lies. You take it as you see it."

"If I put down my weapon, do you swear not to attack me again?"

He thought for a moment. "Yes."

"How can I take your word for it? Do you break it?"

"I have to keep my word. It makes for a good leader to do so."

Josephine stared at him. Her body ached from the previous day's fight, but she felt if he broke his word, she could take him again. The knife was placed on the end of the bed and she moved slowly towards him. He really did look different from anyone she had seen. His expressions were fierce and full of despise for anything around the manor. Right now, it was almost peaceful, his brows were not rutted and mouth relaxed. It drifted from its previous display of content, but it was something to notice.

To mark their – armistice – she held out her hand. At first, he stared at like it might reach up to choke him again. He leaned back slightly, which added to this hypothesis. "It's a handshake," she explained.

He stared at it in evident distrust. "What does it do?"

"You shake my hand and…we make a truce."

"A truce? Why would we do that?"

Josephine huffed slightly. "You said that I impressed you and that you didn't expect to find someone like you here. Wouldn't that make it less likely that you would try to kill me again?"

He remained silent.

She tried a different route. "_You've_ been trained to fight criminals…._I've_ been trained to fight criminals…" She hesitated to see if he would get it. "Wouldn't that mean that the both of us could do more good alive than being at odds and trying to kill each other all the time?"

Damian stood there for a moment. Eyes flickered between the hand and the face of the person holding it out. Josephine could probably read his thoughts. Did he know what a truce was? Did they have that where he came from?

Gradually, he touched her hand as if feeling for a weapon concealed under her skin. How sad to see someone so concerned with those around him trying to hurt him all the time. He couldn't even trust her right now. He took two fingers, then three….the process was slower than anything she had ever attempted. But, it was interesting to watch. When his fingers touched hers, there was a strange buzz in them. Was she excited that this was happening? Was it something bad? A warning?

His hand engulfed her hand and she squeezed it gently, just enough to let him know that it wasn't an angry sing, but something…affectionate. Perhaps it was something that he lacked. He responded by squeezing harder. It hurt her hand, but she excused it with telling herself that he did not do this often.

There they were. The two of them standing in her bedroom, sealed a treaty with a simple childish handshake. For the first time since his arrival, Josephine Kane felt that Damian Wayne might turn out to be something more than programmed machine.


	8. Blue & Green

**Chapter Eight. At this point, I'm changing my posting schedule since difficulties in life have emerged. My Saturday night chapters will either be posted on Saturday or Sunday now. I have had a lot of events where I'm getting home later. I feel like this will work better for me and et you guys some better quality chapters. So don't be concerned when it's not Saturday. That's all. I own nothing. Tell me anything you like. You know the drill. Enjoy.**

* * *

><p>Bruce paced around his room. Leslie was with him in his study, sitting in his office chair, wondering what was going to happen with his two charges.<p>

"I don't know what in God's name is wrong with them," Bruce remarked shaking his head. Leslie sat back, a little shocked.

"You shouldn't be too hard on them. Perhaps on Damian, but not Josephine-"

Bruce whirled around. "Not hard?" He did not bend over like any in an aggressive state. His body was fully erect as always. He kept his posture at all times. Controlled. "She almost killed him! If I had not come down when I did, Damian would have been dead. She would have had murder on her hands! Do you think I can excuse that?" He rubbed his left hand with his right. His inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself.

Leslie shook her head. No, murder was not something easily forgotten, especially to one's own son. She was trying to imagine the same happen to her own imaginary child. It was by far not a pleasant feeling. Bruce had a justifided right to worried about the welfare of those under his roof. Dissuading him from using punishment would not be an easy matter.

"What's worse is that, she is my responsibility and I let them be in the same room together. I never thought that this would happen." He stood by his desk and clutched a fistful of hair. A gentle crack alerted of ripped hair roots. A few moments later, he released them and placed both palms on the desk, feet squarely apart and hung his head in thought. "What do you think I should do, Leslie?"

Leslie considered her answer carefully. "While you seem to press much blame on Josephine –"

Bruce's mouth opened to protest, but she held up her hand and closed her eyes.

"– while you seem to press the blame on Josephine, I can't help but think this wasn't entirely her fault. You've said yourself that your son has a bad upbringing."

Bruce narrowed his eyes. Not at her, but at the concept. She knew he knew she was right. The boy was uncontrollable. No telling what he could be capable of. When she examined them, Josephine possessed an equal amount of wounds as Damian. Her head was bashed so badly that she had a concussion. It was a miracle neither of the two partook any more brain damage. No, Josephine was not to be the blame. If anything, it was that boy who attacked. She was not a betting woman, but it was obviously the boy who would be the primary candidate for an attack.

She would have to think up something fast. Josephine was going to be punished while that boy went free. What was she supposed to do? Not fight him? Run away? Perhaps the girl could have if she was fast enough. But that boy came from a whole other world full of tricks and methods unseen to a girl her age. It was a bad upbringing. But was he to blame as well? Were the two of them forever to be put through this…this circle of blame for the rest of their lives? The children of rivals they were. But that did not mean this had to be an omen.

Another idea came to mind.

"You've kept them apart for days, but there is something you don't know…." She held her breath for a moment, hoping that the lack of oxygen might restart her brain and keep her from doing what she was about to do. It didn't, so she continued. "The reason they haven't started fighting again is that the two of them have…"

"Yes?" Bruce asked. His eyes raised. There was not a lot going on in Wayne Manor that he did not know.

"They've formed some kind of bond through it."

He furrowed his brow. "How do you know? If anything they should hate each other now."

Leslie narrowed her eyes in play. This was no laughing matter but lightening the mood might not be such a bad idea. She tapped her temple. "Mmm…call it a woman's intuition, but anytime I've talked to them one on one and mentioned the other's name, I don't get an aggressive response. No, I think they've…made friends."

"Is it some kind of sick game?"

"You may call it that, but I think Josephine's stunt has kept Damian at bay. She might have just earned his respect."

Bruce sat back and thought about this. How foolish had he been? In Damian's education, the more kills made, the more pride and dignity he earned as well, especially if it were someone who was a threat….

"How could I have been that blind?" He placed a hand over his face and rubbed his temples. "Of course he thought that Josephine was someone to compete with. He only needed the chance to fight."

"You're condoning this?" It was her turn to be a little surprised. The whole ordeal did sound preposterous, but this city was not like any other.

"I would never excuse such an activity. But in this case…it had proved to be somewhat of a miraculous event. If we're right, then Josephine and Damian might not be at each other's throats anymore." His eyes twinkled with a little humor. "Perhaps we can get some peace and quiet again."

* * *

><p>Damian cut open the letter as soon as the post had arrived. He stripped off the envelope and unfolded the article. The words on the page were inscribed in perfect cursive, a hand that could only have written this way if he were an influential figure used to the art of addressing the most fearsome leaders in the world.<p>

_Ibn,_

_You have arrived safely, I assume. It is good that you have not written to me. It proves that you have followed my instructions perfectly. Listen to me, my grandson; you are not there to participate in the rituals in that world. You are there to learn the teachings of Wayne and become your birthright. It is through you that the houses of the Bat and the Jackal can be united. You are the emblem that will bring the corruption in this world to its knees._

_Since your father refused my offer, it stands with you to take his place as Batman and eventually, mine as Head of the Demon. You must make it your personal duty to make your place known there. You are the only son of Bruce Wayne and by that right earned his title._

_You will reside in Gotham until this is reached. It may be years, but you will prove a far more powerful force than Grayson. He is too like Bruce. His love for the preservation of life will yield his training forever. It is the pathetic way. You will remain to keep your place._

_Do not send word of anything unless I notify you otherwise. Letters are too perilous during these times._

_Remember your training,_

_Ra's Al Ghul_

_Head of the Demon_

At the bottom of the page, the emblem of the Jackal was stamped in blood wax. Damian came away from the letter feeling rejuvenated in his role. The empowerment made him stronger and more willing to take anything he so desired. His grandfather had that effect: convincing him that he was the true heir to the Bat cowl. Not Grayson. He was nothing. He was the enemy. If they encounter he would surely be killed, but he must save that for a later date. For now, he had to meditate. There was much to consider…_very much_ indeed….

* * *

><p>Josephine wandered the halls, admiring the portraits all over the walls, the collected artifacts and the sculptures that seemed to walk into new places at every turn. She perused the premises often. Wayne Manor was a mysterious place with those covert corners and edges where anything could suddenly become alive. At least, it was fun to imagine it. She often did when she was younger. It was a little more fun then, but it was tradition to keep the wonder alive.<p>

She headed along the west wing towards her bedroom. It was almost tea time and Alfred did like for her to be on time. She went past the rooms, but stopped when she heard mysterious chanting coming from the door to her right. Her room was four doors down, but the sounds intrigued her. She cracked the door and listened.

Something….ancient….Greek? It could be….

Damian Wayne.

It sounded like a prayer. He sat on his knees in front of a desk in a closet with candles laid on top. Some drapery was strewn over the desk in an attempt to make it look more presentable. The lit candles made the room smell like…incense? Was that the scent? Or some other strange Asian spice permeating the room. It was a little smoky, since there was no window in there; only darkness with the exception of the lit candles.

She couldn't help but let out a sneeze when the chanting stopped. The next vision she saw was Damian pouncing on the door and holding her throat. She half expected that he wouldn't choke her but decided that this time he had a right to. Her esophagus already started to close up. The edges of her sight went black. She was trespassing on his ritual It was wrong but she couldn't help but feeling intrigued by it.

"I'm…sorry…." She said between clenched gasps.

Damian's hand did not move. "Do not _interrupt_," he said in a deadly tone. "You do not spy on me," he clenched her throat tighter. The black edges bled into her vision. "I can kill you." She knew that. Oh, she did. This time he might do it. But, he released her.

She inhaled strongly; hand flying to her throat to feel the heat of the scarlet marking that would badge her neck for the next few hours.

He went back into the room and slammed the door, this time, locking it.

* * *

><p>Josephine played piano in the drawing room. She felt the music and since she loved it so much Bruce had given her teachers once she arrived. Her fingers danced over the keys of the Grand in a performance of "Clare de Lune." A classic and a bit overdone, but she enjoyed it all the same. The keys were bright and echoed round the room in the acoustic room. Long sinewy windows shed early morning light over the floors in delicate rectangles. Dust whirled around the entrapment, their specs seen to the naked eye. A soft breeze blew in; cool, calm and soothing, matching the tone of her music.<p>

In the corner, she did not notice Damian lurking there. He stood stoic, as always. Her face fashioned into his grim features, watching her perform. Only this time, something else was in his eyes. Wonder perhaps.

She finished the last few keys with her wrists angled in the payer's manner. Before she has time to relax, the boy standing aside walked up. His footsteps startled her for a moment. A quake shook her, but she composed herself swiftly.

"I apologize," he said. Her hands linked behind his back. Her eyes pressed to the tiled floor. "I should not have threatened you."

She rubbed her neck, and located a waif hair back in place. "Yes, that wasn't exactly in the agreement for being on the neutral side," she muttered, not angrily. She did deserve that. She couldn't want anyone to walk in on her, although if it were Damian she might not have minded so much.

His eyes fixed together. "You need to learn your place," he stated.

"I know. My place isn't in your sacred room. I shouldn't have gone in there."

She looked up at him and found him staring at an open window.

Josephine smiled. "Let's forget about it, okay? It wasn't right for me to be in there in the first place. I should know better."

He nodded. The corners of his lips were still in a frown.

There was something off about him. When he was trying to abuse or dishearten her, it was so easy to tell what he was going to do. Their fights beforehand had become routine, albeit rough in safe haven. Now that they weren't enemies, she didn't know what they were. Friends, she supposed, but he was hard to read. He didn't smile. Of course, that was his way. He smiled when he tortured, so maybe that was not something she wanted to see from him directed at her. Talking was not his strong suit. He was not very good at it, so maybe there was something they could do that did not require talking.

Her eyes flickered up at the thought.

Bruce forbade her from continuing, especially after what she almost did to Damian, but if she and Damian was to…

"Can you do something for me?"

She motioned to the doors. _Locked_, she mouthed. Their meaning implicated the strictest confidence. He lowered his head to her mouth. A little blush covered her cheeks in the idea. Maybe he would agree, maybe he could help her in her goal. Possibly this could work after all. "I need you to help train me."

His head flicked back, not out of disgust, but shock. "Why can't my father do that?"

"Because I want _you_ to. You can help me. I want to become a vigilante. I'm tired of sitting here doing nothing all the time. You would know about thinks Bruce can't teach me." Flattery always works. "The way you fight, it's like you were born for it. The excitement, the feeling of confidence, knowing what you can do…being of importance to the city….of saving people. I want that too." They stared at each other. She suddenly felt like she was preaching. The feeling welling inside was warm and passionate. Whether the violence, or thoughts of saving lives, she was almost shaking when she started speaking again. "I feel like we are," she stared at their hands. His resting on the piano, hers on the keys. Dark and light skin, "similar. I can't explain it. It's as if we can become friends if we wanted to. Good friends." She wanted for a response, but got none. "I can't help feeling like the Damsel in distress whenever you and Bruce come back from a night to regal your tales about the event. I can't wait any longer." She paused. "I want someone my own age to teach me. You," she smiled. "Maybe this way, we can get along better. Get to know each other."

Damian blinked several times. His blue eyes expressed nothing. "You want me…to teach you the ancient ways of my people?"

Josephine shook her head quickly. "No! Not if it's something secret that you don't want to share with me, just to help me become what I can be. You said yourself I had the potential to be something."

Silence passed between them. There was no immediate response from hi side. The two of them held their gaze. Blue and green. He inhaled deeply, no doubt watching her reactions for signs of deceit. She held none. She was being completely honest with him. She wanted a teacher. And it was going to be him. He smiled smugly. "Yes, I will teach you."

She stood beside him. Being nine, she was a few inches taller, but in time that would change. If she stayed long enough, he would taller than her. At first, that sounded a bit strange, being shorter than the brown skinned boy to her right, whose ferocity still made her uneasy. But nature was nature. Things always changed. Maybe in time, they could change beyond the physical.

* * *

><p>February<p>

Josephine walked Damian down the hall blindfolded. He had not taken well to the idea, still not trusting her completely.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

She laughed. "Not today."

Usually, she didn't think that was funny. Murder, anything of the like was horrible to her and she still felt the sting for what she almost did. She grimaced at the thought, but soon, it would stop. The hands so fit around his throat, the sounds of him gasping for breath, his struggles….

No! She shook herself from those thoughts. Whenever she was reminded of such things, she opened her pill bottle and swallowed one. They kept the memories at bay. They were her refuge. They made it stop like Somalin did stress.

When they neared the old closet, she looked down the hall where their rooms were, remembering the original thoughts she had when she first found out they would be rooming across from each other…

"_He's going where?" she asked Bruce at the end of Christmas dinner._

"_Across the hall. What is wrong with that?"_

"_Well," she admitted shyly. She had not told him about the very non Sugar Plum fairy dreams she was having about his son when he came the night before. The nightmare of him coming in and stabbing her in her sleep. Not exactly a very picturesque Christmas Eve._

"_You will be fine."_

_He's the devil child, she thought quietly. That was even before he started to abuse and bully her. Her optimism kept her near him, but also helped her being slandered and attacked almost every time._

Her thoughts came back to the present and she sighed. She was hopeful again. With any luck it would last. She felt that she and Damian could start anew and be friends. Not like after Christmas.

She presented him with the room fixed nicely and the candles in their permanent places.

Damian stared in wonder at the present thinking what he did to have this. He was the future Batman after all. He needed his own study. A spiritual reward.

"Is this Bribery?" he asked.

She smiled. "You can think what you like, but I felt like doing it since I barged in on you. I felt terrible." She lowered her eyes.

He turned away and inspected the rest. The walls were tattooed in the proper symbols. The fabric used on the walls and altar was crimson velvet, giving the room such strong essence with the candles lit.

His eyes fanned over the room with such awe she had never seen before. "I researched everything down to the last candlestick. The meditation was something that was so important that I wanted to make sure you had somewhere to go to be private – to think."

He turned back to her. The words did not come naturally, but when they did, he was overwhelmed. "Thank you."

She nodded and turned to leave, only to have him grasp her by the wrist. It was rough by normal standards, but Josephine excused it with the thought that he still needed practice in showing affections.

He walked the two over to the altar and kneeled down. She looked to him with a questioning stare.

"I don't know how to –"

"It is simple." He demonstrated. "Bow your head." She did. "Clear your mind and feel the flames on your face, begin to…."

* * *

><p>Josephine sat on the top step of the veranda looking at the back garden on evening. Cool air night air blew across her skin like a caress and touched her soothingly. The moonlight lit the petals of the brighter flowers: geraniums, daisies, white roses…all were in bloom ad she felt the last essence of winter melt away. She closed her eyes.<p>

It was such a short time. So much had happened in that little timeslot had occurred. First, she realized that Bruce was not going to make her a part of the family, officially anyway. Second, her birthday had passed: a ten-year-old. Double digits made all the difference. And third, Damian was going to teach her more about fighting and offense. He actually _volunteered_. The idea had not come up before. He was changing. It was weird to think of them together before, fighting all the time, slandering, trying and almost succeeding in killing each other. Look at them now: friends.

Were they best friends? Josephine wasn't sure. She didn't think Damian was either. He probably didn't know what a best friend was. She would have to tell him in time. He might ask. He might not. But, she knew that he wanted to know more about the life here, even if it didn't show.

Her braid was long down her back. Bruce suggested that it be trimmed, but she thought otherwise…and so had Damian. He was very hostile of the idea of her with short hair.

"_I think she looks fine with long hair. It looks more,"_ he paused, realizing that he was about to heavily compliment her, _"…distinguished."_

Josephine's eyes had lowered when he said that. She didn't know that he cared.

It wouldn't have been that short. Only a couple of inches. She had shot him a look of mock astonishment. If she wanted to cut her hair she would. For the time being it was nice the way it was. But it was truly a surprise that he cared. He grumbled something and went back to eating. She smiled into her slice of cake.

Bruce tried speaking about another topic, but was greeted with Josephine's evil eye. Two months was not enough time to get over what he refused. The blow had softened, but she was not entirely sure that she forgave him. Three years with Bruce Wayne, and you still could not understand the way his mind worked. As big a heart as everyone said he had, Josephine was beginning to see differently, maybe not with human kind in general, but with those closest around him.

The opening door's squeal interrupted her thinking. She glanced behind and saw Damian walking solemnly across the porch and sit a few feet away from her. His skin was shrouded in the darkness. She could see his blue eyes against the contrast to his skin. Those were the only things he inherited from his father, a part from a strong face that might grow more prominent when he aged.

"Do you mind me sitting here?"

"No," she gazed in his direction. "It's fine." She smiled, thinking he might see her paler contrast to the night. "Thank you for helping me."

"We haven't started yet."

"I know, but…thank you for agreeing." He noticed her eyes sparkling under the moonlight.

"Is something the matter?"

"Oh, it's nothing. Really. Bruce just doesn't want me to be a part of the family business. Almost as much as he doesn't want me to be a part of the family."

"You already asked him about this?" he quizzed, suddenly alarmed.

"Ye-ess," her voice traveled down an octave. "Was I not supposed to? What's wrong?"

Damian stood. She could tell only by the sudden flight of his eyes. His head bent low and his hands reached towards something on him; it could be imaginary or not, but he was clearly flustered. "This is terrible…my father…he doesn't know? He said no?"

Josephine's heart pumped faster. A small sweat broke over her face, but she didn't feel like this was her fault. "Yes, I did. What's the matter?"

He wheeled on her. "My father did not give his permission! If he finds that I'm helping you, it would destroy everything! I admire my father. I want the mantle, but you could ruin that just by asking me this favor."

"Damian, you're helping me." She stood as well. "You can't push all the blame on me. I can do it. I know I can. I need extra help. I've reached a point where Bruce has stopped. I can't get past it on my own." She reached toward him. "With your help I know I can manage."

"Obviously you cannot if he said no," he cut in.

Josephine shrunk back. Why was this so hard? What made this a decision that was already breaking them just when she thought they were on neutral ground?

"You made a promise. Shouldn't you honor your word? Or do they always lie in the League of Assassins?" She spat. Her voice lowered into a dangerous volume. "What potential you say will I have if I don't ever get past the fence that's blocking me? Your father is blocking me. A warrior who wants to achieve more in her life, than playing the sitting duck in the Bat Cave while everyone else gets to have all the fun? Have a bedtime? Told what to do all the time, even when my brain reaches far above everyone else outside these walls? I'm not like all the others, okay? I know that at least. The problem is that no one will believe in me."

Josephine settled back onto her soles. She didn't realize she was standing on her tiptoes during that tirade, but felt so much smaller when she shrunk to her regular height. For once, she had felt superior. For once, she was doing what she believed, instead of listening to the others around her all the time.

Damian said nothing.

Josephine sighed, staring at the ground, listening to her and his breathing melding together in the silence of the night. A bird chirping woke her. Bother their breaths stopped and they simultaneously snapped up to find the source of it.

Her eyes grew weary as she looked into the pitch known as the forest leading over to the cliffs. She was angry and tired of fighting for one night. Sleep beckoned and this time she would not disagree. "Please, just say you'll think about it," she whispered.

His eyes narrowed.

Aggravation adding to her exhaustion Josephine slapped her hand to her sides and started her way inside. She barely got inside the door when she heard a quiet. "Does he have to know?" She turned to him. He was looking at the ground, but momentarily met her gaze. "Is it necessary that we lie to him?"

She dropped the hand holding the doorknob. "It isn't lying if he doesn't know." She started walking towards him. A neutral expression crossed her face.

He nodded eyes still on the porch floor. He wet his lips. "I do not want him to know." He held out both his arms in a beseeching gesture. "You have to make sure he never finds out."

"Not the training."

"No, I will say when he finds out about your wish." He face died a little. "If he finds out earlier, he could throw me out."

Her eyes filled with understanding. She drew herself closer to his side. Meagerly, she reached out and touched his arm. Her palm spread flat against his shirt sleeve. "I promise. I swear it." They beheld each other for a moment longer.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"Are we really friends not?" she suggested.

"I…suppose we should be."

She smiled, and slid her hand to his shoulder looking up at the moon. "We have a secret now. Friendships are usually bound in secret keeping."


	9. Red & Blue

**Thanks to all who are reading and keeping up with this story. You guys are super great. I can't describe how much it means to me especially during my stressful (and probably yours too) time with exams and the like. Thanks guys.**

* * *

><p>March 2023<p>

"Prepare yourself," warned Damian. He moved his leg back to accept her attack, legs at the perfect width.

Josephine, in turn, watched his movements. His arms hovered in front of him for the coming onslaught. She copied him. The movement felt so familiar that she barely had to think about it. She was dressed in fitted black pants and shirt. The clothes clung as her as her only armor. It did not matter. This was a test of her strength and will as a skilled fighter. Over the past year of extreme training, her skinny arms and legs had filed out more, much to her surprise. Lumps of muscle peeked out on her arms and calves. Her core was tougher and could support her attacks. A step closer to her goal. Armor could not always be handy when a battle broke out.

"I'm ready," she said. She silenced her heart palpitations with the mediation exercises Damian offered her. Adrenaline would be ready when she needed it. Never in the beginning. Never waste the bodily chemicals that could help when that was the last weapon you had left. A wave of serenity washed over her. She was calm. She was ready.

She was the first to strike.

Her movement forward almost earned her a grip on his arm, but he was too quick, grasping hers, sending a jolt of pain up her shoulder and tossing her to the side. She back rolled, landing on four limbs only a few feet away. He came first. He wielded his body up, forming a corkscrew to come down on her lowered limbs but she was too quick and dodged it. When he landed, she kicked out one of his legs and grabbed his arm, hooking it with her own so that he couldn't budge.

Damian found a loophole, his elbow knocked into her chest. The wind temporarily left her lungs and she spattered out spit as she tried to regain breath. Damian used this distraction to stand and kick out her legs. Josephine acted quickly; his leg was near hers but she jumped over him, gripping onto his back and stayed there, holding on.

The two looked odd standing there. Him, staggering under her weight with her limbs entangled around his body.

"You made your point. Get off." He struggled for her head but she leaned back, taking his back with her. It arched in a "C." "Mm…ngghgg…" he grunted. He could not shake her.

"Hah, you have to admit I win – ah!"

Josephine's stomach soared into the air as she contacted the pavement. Damian was on top of her. He was struggling to get free. "Let go, I win."

"You don't know that," she smiled under the pressure. "I think I might have, seeing as you can't free yourself of my trap."

"Deuce," he admitted.

Limbs melted away from his body. "That better, hm?" She asked playfully. She rolled over onto her stomach and looked at him. He was still on his back. She drew an imaginary circle into the ground, thinking. "Did you know that we met one year ago?"

Damian relaxed. He stretched out his arms and stayed there, breathing in deeply. "It is?"

"Mmmm hmm…." She kept starting at him. Damian was interesting to look at sometimes. He was cross, but could be gentle when he wanted. He had the expression on his face like he did when he meditated. His eyes were closed and looked like he was going to drift off to sleep.

"Damian?" No answer. She slid closer to his face. "Dee?"

Eyes snapped open and his pushed to the ground and rolled on top of her. "Pinned you."

Josephine was about to object, but he had such a smug expression that she decided not to fight it. "Okay, let me up. You win."

"No."

No? "Dee, come on, I want up. What's your message this time?" She stared him in the eyes.

"I don't want you getting the upper hand."

"So it _is_ fear."

"I'm not afraid!" he shouted close to her face.

"Dee," she said gently. "I was only kidding. You have to take a joke sometimes. You're so serious."

His head cocked. "What is wrong with serious? I am trained to be a warrior. We fight and do our duty. There is not time for games."

"Really? Then, I think you may have made a mistake with me."

"What?" He closed the gap between their faces. "What does that mean?"

She didn't answer.

"What does that mean?" he asked voice lowered - more superior.

Her eyes glistened. "Why tell you? You don't understand friendship yet."

He frowned deeply. The premature crevices around his mouth and forehead deepened. Every day he was looking older. Not in the teenage sense, but like an older man possessing years of anxiety beyond any age. For a twelve year old, his face could pass for a forty something. "I understand friendship. Isn't that what we've had this past… year, you said?"

Josephine sighed. "You're not helping your case by stating the obvious again. You don't know about give and take. See, I'm learning your battle styles. I'm trying baptize myself in your ways – get to know you better. I have in that time span. Your meditation, your spirituality, the fact that you have a sweet tooth, your evening prep routine…I know that." She watched his eyes. "What do you know about me? Other than my name."

Damian widened his eyes. "I watch you. I'm around you all the time it feels. More than I think I should be." He didn't want to go on. He didn't like these kinds of discussion. The ones with feelings and pouring of the souls. Even with Josephine, the opening up was a hard bargain. "I see you. I know you like the piano. You like to collect masks, even if I don't understand. You like to sketch drawings for creations you want to bring to life…"

Josephine's eyes filled. He really thought that? After all this time? Really?

"You like to eat candy…a lot. You think that Selina Kyle is by far the greatest female to ever walk the planet." He made a face. "You like to eat chicken…more than anyone else."

She grinned. "That's all true. I'm amazed."

"I pay attention."

"You do." She squiggled under him. "You want to let me up now. I'm sorry. Really sorry."

"No."

"But I told you I'm sorry. I am! Come on!"

"No, you're fine." He kneed into the ground, holding her in place. "You're not getting up."

"This is abuse."

"No, it is fair. This is punishment."

She grinned wider. "Really that's the fight?"

"Yes, it is." The voice belonged to neither one. Damian scrambled off of Josephine when he heard the shadowed echo. They stood. Bruce Wayne came out of the shadows. He slow clapped, a stern expression over his face. Josephine expected extreme yelling next. Stern lectures about going behind his back, being trained when he specifically asked her not to. Going behind his back for this long and thinking they could get away with it. "Interesting."

Damian leapt up, tugging Josephine's arm with him. They stood a good five feet apart. Both their eyes bore up at Bruce. Damian's were intense, matching his father's. He would not back down. With all the reverence he showed his father, a staring contest was certainly something he would not lose to.

"Father, we were practicing combat. I was showing Josephine – "

"I know that you were doing." He stepped onto the lift that lowered him to their level. Was it her or was Bruce's tone not very angry? She imagined him furious in the scenarios of discovery. But this? He wasn't affected at all.

He walked towards them in his solemn way. When he was just three feet in front of them, he stopped. "So," he said. "I finally get to see you in action."

"Excuse me?" She said.

Bruce smiled. Yes, very uncharacteristic of him. "You think you were being discreet. I've been watching you for a while." He pointed to some holes in the caves. "Cameras? You forgot about those, didn't you?"

Josephine mentally slapped herself. She didn't think to dislodge the camera's footage from the memory banks. Of course he could see every move they made. It must have been so easy. He knew all along. He could turn on the video whenever he got bored to watch her fall flat on her face while his son gloated over her. Damian actually didn't do this very often. In the beginning, of course he did. In a year, he had become more than the angry boy no one wished to associate with. Now, he was a bit more silent, more earnest for her to achieve. She had no choice but to get it right. If she couldn't, there would be no chance she would join the ranks of the Bat Family.

Even Batman wasn't going to stop that from happening.

"What will you do, father?" Damian's eyes dropped in respect. He expected punishment. Perhaps he didn't pick up on the tone change.

Bruce shrugged. "Do what? I've interrupted your training, but I thought I would give you the chance to explain yourselves," he said good-naturedly.

"Okay, what is going on Bruce? This isn't how I pictured you finding out." Josephine quirked an eyebrow, drawing her lips in an unfashionable demeanor.

"Are you disappointed? Do you want Hell to come down on you?" He crossed his arms.

Josephine sighed. "No…it's just….you seem okay with this. With….us…."

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"I don't know….because you told me I couldn't train that's why!" Josephine stared at Damian in disbelief. Maybe he would stand up with her. He witnessed her confession. Those _were_ his words.

"Josephine, that was a long time ago. I was…less than overjoyed with the concept of you being out on the streets….alone…"

"Why? You let Damian be there. He could be more trouble than me." She turned to him. "No offense, Dee." She apologized quietly, eyes bowed to him.

"None taken. I am not quite the stealth type," he admitted to her. They smiled between each other. That familiar warmth spread through. Josephine focused on Bruce again.

"I thought you would be angry. I do mean, furious. Calling the fires of Hell to imprison me kind of anger."

"I'm sorry; I should have told you what I thought. By the time I felt like training you myself, you had dropped the subject and I guessed that you lost interest. But when I was looking into surveillance tapes, I discovered you skills. What was more, you and Damian working together? My involvement might have spoiled that for you. I couldn't deny you something you both need."

Josephine glanced at Damian. Blue eyes flicked to her for a second. She knew he knew. "So, why have you interrupted it now?"

"Your improvement is so immense; I wanted to offer you a chance to prove yourself."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"The Trials. I think you may be ready for them, if you're up to the task."

Josephine could not breathe. The air stopped flowing. Blood didn't reach her head. Was she dreaming? "Did you say The Trials?"

Bruce's expression reverted to its solemn neutral state. "Yes, and if you have heard anything about it, you know how difficult it may be."

Josephine nodded, matching his seriousness. Tim Drake told her about it when he came to visit last. When she was training, she made it a habit to collect as much information about ti she could. He said that it was the most difficult task he ever had to complete. It tested strength, stamina, flexibility, and morale. The body was tested to the limit. She was a little more shaken because he was about two years older than her when he underwent them.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I'm ready to do it."

"Are you positive?"

"Yes, I am."

* * *

><p>Josephine and Damian stood in her room. She was still dressed in her training clothes. It had been exactly an hour since her interview with Bruce and she felt somewhat lost since the agreement. She had invited Damian in because she didn't want to be alone. A sign of weakness he might think, but she didn't care. Right now, she needed someone with her. Someone to be there and understand what she was about to go through.<p>

A warmth touched her shoulders. She realized his hands were place there. She had not realized she was shivering. "Thank you," she whispered.

He nodded and rubbed her arms without reply. "You can do this," he said. "I know you can. I trained you."

She smiled. "Of course, you're the best."

"Yes." He stated.

She looked down at the emblem shining on his shirt. He was wearing his robin training uniform. The golden R stood out under the lighting. She touched it gingerly. Her fingers grazed the outline of it. Initially, she believed it would be cold, being metal, but his body heat made it comfortable to the touch, almost alive. Damian froze. Without realizing, his arms had folding, bringing her closer as she stared at the sign. His thumbs pressed into her arms to make her stop. They did nothing of the sort. She looked up at him with serious eyes.

"I hope I can get one of these." She swallowed. Out of awkwardness or fear, neither of them knew. "I don't want to fail."

He stood counting the seconds for a response, but none came, so he said in his way, "You're not going to fail."

"Dee," she began, "I'm scared." A trickle ran down her cheek. He almost brushed it, but decided against it.

"Do not be. Harness your fears. They do nothing for you."

"What if I can't do it? What if I fail? I think Bruce would not want me to be a sidekick."

"Don't say that. We are not sidekicks. We are fellow fighters – soldiers in the battle for justice. Even if he says no, you are still a warrior. I will to make sure of that."

"You would?"

Damian looked down. "Yes, because you deserve it."

* * *

><p>The Bat Cave's walls were aligned in layers of stone and water seeped down from concealed underground rivers into the caverns below. The waterfall roared in the northern part of the cave off where the computer mainframe was. She tried to focus on it - the cool rush of water calming her. The amount of moisture added to the humidity, making Josephine's hair stand out of her bun. She stood watching a flock of bats fly over, screeching as they did. She suddenly wished she were one of them, not having to worry about acts of bravery or tests that would decide ones fate. To fly. To be free for a day. That sounded nice.<p>

Selina came on the big day. Leslie had taken Josephine's advice on helping people more to the extent of returning to Africa to study vaccines. When she would be back, was unknown. Since Leslie's departure, Selina Kyle had been coming around more and more. Since Josephine was Bruce's only female ward ever recorded, she took a special interest in her. Selina was someone Josephine liked to be around because of her change between hero and villain – and of course as a girl's interest – her relationship with Bruce. She had heard the stories and liked to pester her about anything that happened in the past between the two and the likelihood that something could continue in the future. Today wasn't the day to talk about things like that.

Selina made her way down the elevator. Her black eyes glinted as she focused on Josephine. Even in the years that passed, she was a looker. She didn't gain weight and kept it off with great vigor; her blouse clung to her small waist and enveloped her round hips. Her hair had gotten longer, but she still kept it closely groomed. She was a woman who took pride on her appearances, a trait Josephine had issues with, but what eleven-year-old didn't. It wasn't a priority in Wayne Manor.

Selina hugged her when the lift stopped. Her nimble fingers stroked her back, soothing the nerves away. She laughed behind her lips. "You know, you're actually doing something for a change."

Josephine broke away from the hug and looked up at her. "I know. I'm not sitting around talking about it anymore." She looked to the Bat computer's mainframe. There was a seat there marked for her. That was where she sat when she wanted to help Oracle monitor Batman and Robin. That was usually where Barbara would have to listen to her go on and on about the pros and cons of going cowl. Selina would sometimes stay. It was only once or twice. She was a field agent and liked to keep it that way. She tended to get antsy when being held against her will – even if it _was_ Josephine.

Selina mussed her hair, only the front part where the bun couldn't be undone. She took a feminine pride in the young girl. Perhaps she saw something of herself in her – a fighting spirit – the need to do something other than sit and watch the world go by. Fate was something of a humorist. Billionaires came in short supply. Selina briefly wondered what life could be like for her had she been taken in by a patron. She was now, she supposed. At a younger age, it mattered so much more. Josephine was lucky. She didn't have to end up in Gotham's red district. She avoided that the day she was scooped up in Bruce Wayne's arms wherever she was found.

Josephine clenched and unclenched her fists, blood draining from the skin and blushing with the sudden flood when she released. This tough girl, she would never have to know the life Selina was put through. The orphanage…the _brothel_…none of it. She breathed a sigh of relief. Good.

"Well I just came to wish you luck. I know you won't need it. Bruce probably doesn't want anyone hanging around here." No response. "Bright girl like you, who needs luck?" She said in her lofty voice. She held up her arms and shrugged, eyes closed. "You're going to be terrific."

Josephine looked back at her. No smile curved her lips. She drew her mouth to a side and nodded, still uneasy about the whole thing.

Selina attempted another smile and sauntered out, standing on the lift and turned around. Josephine looked back and said in a little voice, "thank you…for coming…"

Selina grinned. "Anytime kid." The lift loosened upward and she disappeared through the secret entrance. Josephine watched as she went with curious eyes. She was so full of confidence and power. Where did that all come from? She had to know. She had to have a little bit of that right now. No, she had to harness herself.

Remember the exercises, she thought. She closed her eyes. The blackness was a comfort. No colors just one shade and nothing else. Nothing to distract her. She was her own person and nothing was going to faze her. She kept repeating the lines over and over. Her heart slowed and the nerves began to descend as well until the cluster of butterflies in her stomach was nothing but a moth flittering around. She had to retain some nerve as a reminder not to become too haughty. That echoed failure in every aspect. Too much pride was fatal. She remembered the talk with Damian. How he soothed her so easily. He understood her. She brought the memory forward, concentrating on how she felt with her friend by her side. Relaxing…reassuring….peaceful…

"Are you ready?"

Eyes snapped open. Her mentor towered over her, his muscle standing out even with his raining gear over them. It was daunting, but she had mustered up the courage long ago to look him straight in the eye and not fear him. Her green ones contacted Bruce's blues. They were colder, tougher than what she was used to. He wasn't Bruce Wayne at the moment. He was Batman.

She was going to be something else. The only objective that stood between her and that identity was this test. A fire lit in her belly. Her eyes gleamed with intensity. She inhaled deeply. She was about to punch this trial in the gut. After this, she would not be just Josephine Kane anymore.

"Bring your worst."

* * *

><p>It was done.<p>

Josephine walked back into the cave, a fresh sheen of sweat melting into her skin. Her training clothes – though black – were stained with the mess. Her white face was a variation of red shades. She breathed deeply as she slow walked back into the gothic atrium on the Batmobile track from the woods entrance. She put a hand through her hair. No doubt it was in tangles and ripped in certain parts where it was caught in trees or other objects used in her test. Some of it was wet from a river run.

Her muscles ached miserably. They hung from her – weights as means of proof of her excellence in keeping up with Bruce. She wouldn't give in even though he gave her a chance halfway through. She refused.

"_Josephine," he had said when she was pushing herself to the top of one of the cliff off the coast near the manner. She wasn't accomplishing much, but dug her fingers into the rock and forced herself up the colossus. "You can stop this. You can stop. Say if you want."_

_Josephine gritted her teeth. Sweat ran down her face. Her foot searched for a hold and touched one, pushing herself up another few feet and closer to her goal. Her eyes fixated on the top. "Never," she stated, a tone much fiercer that she ever uttered. "I don't care what you say. I'm not going – " she reached higher and found some pebbles, but felt her way across for another strong hold, lifting herself up higher " – going to stop until I get there. And you aren't going to tell me when that is." She kept going and going, pushing harder, driving her muscles and mind to the extent of exhaustion._

_Finally, her arms slid over the crest, flushed from pain and sun. She controlled her breathing. Bruce grabbed her upper body and hoisted her up. He let her sit and take a sip of water – but she refused. She had the water, but the sitting was not something she needed to get in the habit of. "I can do it. I'm fine."_

"_How do you feel?" He asked when he took back the water._

"_Ready for the next task," she replied._

It wasn't just the dangerous free climbing or other activities. It was also the use of weapons, which she had started studying a long time ago. The shruikens, smoke bombs, shields, even a whip was thrown in for good measure since she could handle one a little. Selina taught her a few pointers. All in all, she felt like a stronger person just by going through it - relieved she didn't pass out.

She breathed in the dank, humid air. It choked her after her adventures outside.

Alfred waited for her at the mainframe's seat. He had with him first aid supplies, food and water. Josephine wandered over to him wearily, but kept her posture and firm face. She stood by the chair and took the crystal glass from him and gulped down the water. Hearing her noisy thirst must have made Alfred concerned for her because when she replaced the glass, his mouth was drawn into a frown. Josephine allowed her face to slide a bit. It was Alfred after all and Bruce hadn't come back yet. She offered him a shadow of a smile. "What, Alfred? Am I that repulsive to look at?"

Alfred eyes beamed before it reached his mouth. "You look radiant," he said.

The shadow became a full grin. "You think so?" But the smiling hurt. Even her facial muscles cried out. She winced and sat down, succumbing to her injuries.

"Let me take a look at you," he said.

Josephine nodded and allowed him to poke a prod her all over. Everything seemed to be in fine order. She did have a few bruises and scratches, but those would heal. Alfred wrapped the gauze around her arm that needed some attention for a strain. "I am proud of you, Josephine," he said. "You show so much bravery in anything. I know Master Bruce will agree."

Josephine nodded. That's right. She had nearly forgotten that Bruce would have to say yay or nay to her. But she didn't care at the moment. She tried to relax, but a sudden thought pinched her sense. "Where's Damian?"

"Getting ready for the night watch. He will be down any second." With a twinkle he added, "believe me, he will be glad to see you safe."

She gazed down, feeling the content, letting it soothe her. She was excited to see him – whenever he decided to show up.

As soon as the thought brushed by, the familiar sound f the lift lowering announced the olive-skinned boy's return. He was jittery, but trying not be, keeping hi stone face on. She noticed his heel tapping the floor couple with a clinking for every tap. Good to know this was torture for him. He leapt off before it landed and ran toward her as man-like as he managed. He took a deep inhale, "did you pass?" his eyes bled into hers, wide and alert.

Josephine relaxed her arms on the rests. "Say hello, Dee," she said. "That would be a nicer greeting."

His lips turned down. "Hello," he clenched. His jaw fixed, but she only smiled lazily up at him. At least the exhaust didn't take away her sense of humor.

"We'll find out in a minute. Sit down." She gestured to a seat.

"No!" Then he backed down. "No…thank you…I won't."

"Your manners improved so much since I was gone. How did this happen?" she asked Alfred.

"How can you be so calm about this?" Damian asked incredulously. "This is the moment we've been waiting for."

"I did my test. The hard part is over." She stood and placed her hands on his shoulders. Their eye levels matched. Foreheads almost touching, she stared him straight. "Bruce is coming anytime. Don't do anything ridiculous." She gave him the once over.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I have never gone too far."

She scoffed. "Oh dear, different translations. Be calm I know you can do it."

With the ending of her last word, the footsteps of Bruce Wayne entered the Caves. He was as drenched as Josephine. Black hair stuck to his head along with dirt over his brow. He carried equipment with him that he placed aside when he passed the weaponry rack.

"Father, how did she do?" Damian ran from Josephine's hold and over to Bruce, who was patting the weaponry back onto the racks. He was silent. A firm expression crossed over his face. "Well?" Damian kept on.

"Damian," warned Josephine, a little amazed at his obvious excitement. She internally blushed. "Come back here. Don't."

Bruce walked away from the rack – and his son- and sat at the Bat Computer, typing into the mainframe as if nothing had happened. Josephine quirked a brow; she glanced at Alfred who stared back at her when he did not receiver orders from his master. He cleared his throat.

"Master Bruce, your first aid is here if you need it, sir," he lay the plate on the table next to the keyboard.

"Thank you Alfred," muttered Bruce as he kept typing.

"Bruce," said Josephine. "How did I do?" No response. "Do you think I made it?"

He stopped and stared back at her. "Made it?"

Josephine looked at the ceiling for a moment in thought. "Yes, made it. I want to know now. I think I deserve it."

Bruce shook his head. "You know if you did or not."

"What does that mean?"

Bruce gave her a hard look, but also raised an eyebrow. "You aren't dead."

Her arms fell to her sides, eyes widened, and she froze in her spot. Dead? She would be dead? All that she did could have killed her without preparation? "What? Are you trying to be funny?"

Bruce stopped typing and sighed. He turned around in his seat and watched her, his eyes tired, but blue and full. "Josephine, what I put you through tested your physical, mental and psychological boundaries. I you failed, you might be dead, but I wouldn't have let that happen. You would have known the shame of failing and understood your place if that occurred. You are much stronger than you think. That is why," he gestured to the glass encased costumes, "you are ready to choose your own path. That is, if you want it."

Josephine looked down at the floor. Now, this was the moment. The choice was hers.

"I'm completely sure. I won't let you down."

Bruce stood. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Do you want to decide your alias now, or after you've rested?"

She shook her head, a fire in her eyes. Her voice full and strong said, "I'm not waiting. I already know."

He did something that looked like a gulp. "Batgirl?"

"No, a new identity." She crossed her arms. "I have an idea." Bruce gave her his full attention. "I'm not going to copy anyone else, but there is a symbol that stuck out to me in my reading." She held out an open palm, as if pantomiming a book. "The blue jay is a bird of honor. Despite its size, it does what it can to protect its fellow small birds; it is a monument against the threats of hawks and owls. I'd like it to be my namesake."

Bruce nodded. He never saw her as Batgirl anyway. Somehow it didn't fit like it did Barbara. "Very good. It will take time for it to be fitted, but in no time you will be flying with the rest of us."

Josephine smiled brilliantly, and looked over his shoulder at Damian, who was suppressing a smile. She walked past Bruce and stood in front of him. "Just think Damian, it's almost the perfect companion to Robin."

Damian smirked holding out a hand in front of him. She took it gladly and held it tight. "Welcome to the team."

"Well done, Miss Kane, who's up for some celebration pie?"

Josephine turned around to look at him. "How did you know I would pass?" she asked with a quirked eyebrow.

Alfred shrugged. "I had a feeling."

Josephine. Finally, a chance to show herself as the new apprentice of Batman, an agent against crime running rampant in Gotham. A squire.

It was only a matter of time.

* * *

><p><strong>Yes, I left out the Trials. This chapter being 5,000 words was very demanding and some things had to be cut, but the bottom line is she got in. The next chapter will feature a larger time skip. We're talking five years, guys. It's going to stay that length for the rest for the story. So, get ready.<strong>


	10. Dreams & Reality

**Okay, last big time skip like I said before. The story will carry on here beyond this point.**

* * *

><p><strong>2028<strong>

_Five years later…_

Robin navigated the narrow labyrinth of tunnels spanning in a mountain given in a location by his father. The location begged the question of why he was there in the first place - a fact he could not place at the present time. All he knew was that he was running, from something he didn't know, or have any feeling for. His heart quickened as the roar of earth crumbled behind him.

_An earthquake_, he thought_. How could that have…where is my father? Where is Josephine?_

He tapped into the radio lodged in his ear. Only static came out. As he ran he persistently kept trying. "Oracle. Batman. Blue Jay." Nothing. "Oracle. Are you there? _Blue Jay?"_

The spirits did not look kindly on him tonight. There had to be an end to these tunnels. It was then that he spotted an opening. When he went through the portal, he was lead into a vaster room. A mound of rock stood in the middle. For now, the quakes seemed to stop. It was so sudden, but he knew the dangers of waiting too long. It would happen soon. But, he had to get a radio in to find his way out…or if there were other survivors. He climbed to the top, thinking that a transmission might be sent easier.

He tapped the radio. "Oracle, are you there?"

"Robin? Is that you?"

"Blue," he did not suppress a sigh of relief. "Are you all right? Are you out of this mountain?"

"_Red_," she inhaled deeply several times. "_You…have to get out. Right now. The quakes are…going to start again. Anytime now. Please get out."_

"Are you all right? Are you out?"

There was a pause. She sighed. "_You have to get out,"_ she said weakly.

He wasn't leaving until she stated she was safe. "Blue…"

"_Yes! I'm safe. I'm…okay. Just keep going. Don't stop until you've gotten out_." The quakes stared up again. Some of the rock in the ceiling began to fall. One piece landed two feet away from him. "_Robin! Go now!"_

He leapt over the mound and rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding a sizeable chuck of earth crashing down. He leapt back on his feet and continued onward. Finding a passageway was easier than expected; he threw himself into a crawlspace and began elbowing his way into the cavern. As long as the hoe did not collapse, he would be okay. He continued to crawl more and more.

The gorge was a plummet twenty stories into a rampant river. The spray laminated the harsh rocks below, sending the immediate signal that none should pass, or face death.

Robin was in luck, he was used to seeing death. Remembering where the drop-off placed was not an issue. Guided by Blue Jay's words, he continued through the labyrinth. Quakes shook the mountain as it sprung to life, angry at trespassers. Only a little bit longer and escape would be there. The tunnel, shedding light on the path illuminated the moonlight. He climbed his way through the hole over a hill of pebbles, watching every step and shook himself of dust and dirt as he ran farther from the mountain. Creaking rocks plummeted into the ravine, and Robin stepped lively over the fissures growing larger and larger.

Thankfully, the mountain range was close together' the nearest mountain. It went unaffected by the explosion. With a running start, he leapt over the gap, and caught wind of a glider designed for him by Blue Jay. He soared over the ravine to the nearest mountain and release the glider, falling forward, legs tucked to his chest, increasing momentum, and landing as a cannonball rolling over the ground and near his mentor's feet. He brushed himself off quickly and gazed at the mountain still trembling. His mentor stood and said nothing.

"Where is Blue Jay?" he asked lightly, patting the clay from his pants.

Batman gave him a questioning look. "She isn't with you?"

The pit of Robin's stomach fell out. Before he could cry out her name, an explosion blew the rock several meters away from the mountain. Gray and Brown rock splintered everywhere, rolling over the cliffs and falling into unknown crevices. The apex collapsed inward, taking the upper crust with it.

"No!" he screamed as the earth trembled. His legs buckled beneath him, landing him on his rear. The earthquake lasted only a few moments before it stopped completely. Robin stood, but was helpless to stop the mountain from any more damage. "Blue! Blue Jay!" he screamed as he tried to run toward it; Batman caught his arm, wrapped the other over his chest. "Let me go! Phiney!"

"Stop, stop…there's nothing we can do. There's nothing we can do." His hold held him tight and he was trapped in his father's arms as the further destruction ended the thread he held to the world – to the light.

"Phiney," he said, much weaker. His breathing became coarser, hollow. His throat burned with a thousand pins sticking in it. His stomach made him want to vomit. She was gone. His best friend was gone. Why did this happen? "No….no, no….Phiney!" he screaming with much more voice this time. "I'm coming. I can get you! Phiney don't let go. Josephine!"

* * *

><p>Damian shot straight up, sweat drenched in bed. He hyperventilated for the next minute, heart racing with incredible panic. It took him a few moments for his exercise to kick in and begin to take deep cathartic breaths. He ran a hand through his wet hair, feeling for little patches of sticky messes. He patted the bed. Of course, she wasn't there. He met only cold sheets. It was pitch black in his room. He needed to see her, to make sure.<p>

He stood and padded to his door, opening it and walking across the hall and opening her door. A steady stream of moonlight light her bed. Her head was surrounded by a halo of brown hair, unlike the rock collapsing on her as the dream had suggested. He inhaled sharply. It felt so real. It almost was. He was surprised he had fallen for something so farce, so abstract.

Once satisfied, he excused himself and slunk against the wall next to the door. The coolness stroked the hot skin on his back as a comforting gesture through his thin shirt. He laid out and closed his eyes. He fell asleep in an instant.

* * *

><p>Josephine stuck her head out the door a few hours later. A toothbrush hung from her mouth as she eyed the boy slumped against her doorframe. She took out the brush, some toothpaste still crusted on her lip. "Aw, Damian, are you protecting me from sexual predators again? That's so sweet."<p>

Eyes blinked under the sudden disturbance. He groaned when he stretched out his arms. "What time is it?"

Josephine smiled. "It's time to go. I guess I'm getting there for an early lesson." She eyed his sleepwear. "You come when you're ready."

She slung the bag over her shoulder and began to tiptoe down the hall. Bruce would be sleeping in this morning. Just like every morning, he used the early hours for catch-up. Being mostly nocturnal did that to a person. She used to be offended by this; when she was younger, she hoped that he would have more time with her. As kids usually were early birds, they wanted to play. Bruce tried to do this, but failed. That was before she had any friends – or more specifically – before she had _a_ friend.

Last night was not a night for duty for her or Damian. Occasionally they got the night off. It was pleasant, being able to sleep at night. But now that she was so attuned during night hours, she was almost always staying up half the night – sketching, or doing some other form of work for either school: but most of it was sketching.

She blueprinted her theories on science. Inventions carried around in her head, clustered in a cavern. Numbers came easily. So simple were the ways of pen and paper. She spent years perfecting her scrap metal techniques. She never took from Bruce. She earned the money for her inventions.

Josephine walked down the long flight of stairs to the second floor. Alfred was already up, readying a plate of bandages for Bruce. He smiled when he glanced at her, but there was a wince in that smile as well. When their eyes met, he held a hand over his heart and doubled over a little. His face wrenched in pain.

"Alfred," she sprinted to his side. He did not fall over, but gained balanced once she drew near. He stood at his full height, inhaling and exhaling a few times.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Her hands hovered over him in case he should fall. "You need to rest. Come on, you don't look well," she gently put.

He placed a hand on his head. "Well," he winced again. "Maybe for a little while," he resigned. He stepped out of the kitchen. Josephine stood and watched him for a while before setting out for the forest.

The Wayne Estate was host to a wood that cascaded down a cliff until it reached flat land, stretching for miles until the city's bright lights could be seen. Josephine trudged into the beginning of them where it stayed level for about a hundred feet before descending downhill. If she continued to go west, she would meet the cliff where Bruce tested her willpower. Occasionally, it was used for climbing practice. Utilizing her bat gear was always a plus.

Sunlight peeks through the green canopy. Shafts of lights rained down onto the bronze and green forest floor. Josephine listened to the calls of birds from every direction. The mourning doves moan, the robin's twitter, and the Blue Jay's warning calls…

She stretched her arms overhead, bringing one over her back and pulling it hard to relieve some of the morning tension there. She could not get it all the way around because of her pack strapped around her middle. Encased, was a weapon of choice she built; it remained snug inside her bag until she needed it. Carrying it around in hand was too much of a trial. Her bow was her greatest achievement in weaponry. It was not her greatest _invention_. That honor belonged to another item. But the bow was something she was very proud of. Its takedown make made it easier to store and pull out when she had it on her body armor as Blue Jay. It hooked onto a grip on her back. She trained and was a fair shot. Maybe she could get some practice on today…

Suddenly, she heard footsteps from behind. Her head flicked back, staring for an intruder. Damian could be already in the woods. Unlike her, stealth was not his motif. He was more of an aggressor, naturally. She broke into a light sprint as the land turned down. The wind stretched her face back, feeling like plastic against her skin – cool air braced her lungs. At the bottom, there was a river stretching deep into Gotham and out emptying into the ocean. It ran just along the path where the Bat Cave dispersed vehicles when they needed it. The location was their meeting place.

She bounced off a boulder, launching herself into a tree. She sat snug there until she heard more of the familiar footsteps moments later. She crouched on the branch, readying herself. Between the leaves, there was only the ground, but a few moments later, the small hole in the canopy was filled with a brown spot: there he is.

Josephine jumped out and fell to the ground, one arm hooked around Damian's shoulder and brought him with her. "Ambush!"

Damian lay there for a few moments before sitting up. "Ambush? Was that not a bit late?"

"I thought I should give you warning this time. Usually, you're so slow. It's embarrassing."

"I am not slow," he said as he stood and brushed himself off. As he did so, he had about five inches on her. He could grow more, being only seventeen. He could fill out. But he possessed a strong build like his father from years of working on his muscles, but they remained lean in his attempts to increase his agility. His chest was toned beneath his shirt. Josephine was still a little bitter about the height. She enjoyed having that advantage as children. But nature was not unkind to her. She had grown to five feet eight inches. Her skinny arms had filled out in lean muscles. Her biceps were especially toned what all the upper body workouts she did. Abs hid underneath her shirt. She was still pale – a fact she was sure would never change, but it was something she was used to and knew was only a part of her. She would never be as tan as Damian. But, that was genes.

Josephine widened her eyes mockingly. "Yeah…yeah, not always…" She smiled. "No, you're really a great warrior," she patted him on the shoulder.

"I taught you everything you know." He stated in monotone.

"That's actually not true." She held up a finger. The two began walking towards the river. "I taught myself a lot. Not to mention Oracle. Alfred. Bruce trained me too. You can't take all the credit, my friend."

Damian shook his head good-naturedly. "Phiney."

He had taken to calling her Phiney in the past few years. It took him a long time to figure out the concept behind giving a good nickname. Name calling was a strong suit for him. She loved it. It was the seal of their friendship. Dee and Phiney.

"Were you going to shoot today?"

"Hmm?" He pointed to her pack. "Oh, I thought about it. Unless you have something else planned?"

He shook the bag around his arm. "You might want to see this." He unbundled some long rods from his pack and lay them out on the ground. "

"We ready for a lesson?"

"Can he see us out here?

"Nope. Believe me, I checked." She pointed to the trees, rocks and sky for emphasis. "I checked. Besides, we've been coming out here for a while. He doesn't seem to care."

"All right." He lifted a bag over his head and placed it gently on the ground.

"What do we have today?" She asked.

"Swordplay."

"Ooh, dangerous." She cocked her head. "Not to mention illegal to Bruce's standards."

"Heritage is heritage. He couldn't take away my sword." Damian stoked the blade. It was marked similarly to the tattoos of the Al Ghul soldiers. His personal sword.

Josephine picked one up and stroked it as well. The fine side was sleek and glinted under the sun. She could see the minuscule ragged points where the flesh would meet it. It sent chills down her spine and she lowered it. An uneasy feeling filled her. "So, we're doing this again."

"You sounded excited before. You don't want to do it anymore?"

"I am, it's just," she looked away. The dribbling rover ran over the sleek rocks. "I don't know. I like doing this. It just feels," she held the sword at a horizontal point, "different, I guess. I'm used to my bow."

He nodded. "Yes, but you have improved on the sword. Sometimes I feel like you could run me through if you wanted."

Her eyes shot up. "I would never do that! That's terrible Dee," she said with a slight whine.

The boy shrugged. "It is the truth." He winked. "But I know you probably would not."

She scoffed. "Thank you for the vote of confidence.

"No, I mean it." His eyes bore into hers. "You know I do."

"I know. It feels nice to hear you say it. We're best friends, but sometimes you think we're enemies."

"I don't think that," he said standing. You cannot think I think that. You're my closest friend. My _only_ friend."

"That's good," she said. She held up a sword menacingly. "Ready to meet your match?" Her face morphed into a challenge. When she was like this, Josephine was not one to contest with.

Damian whirled his sword, stretching his arm. The blade shined in the early morning light, making slight whooshing noises as he did. Then, the blade stood still, poised at its opponent. He fixed his stance with feet width apart. His other arm balanced behind him. "Ready."

They clashed swords together for what felt like hours. Josephine was getting the upper hand. Even though Damian was more experienced. She had the habit of catching on fast. Learning weaponry was a strong suit that she liked to keep alive. That and inventing technology. Damian pulled away, sweat trickled down his brow, and he inhaled sharply.

"I think that is enough for today." He sheathed his blade. Josephine did the same. She handed it back to him.

"Thanks for the lesson. I'm getting better. I might beat one of the League of Assassins." A playful glint sparkled in her eye.

He nodded approvingly. "Perhaps one day." He shouldered the bag. "Let's get back. He might be wondering where we are."

The two started out for the Manor. When it was in main sights, it turned into a race. Josephine started ahead, lugging her weapon with her. She was luckier, had the lighter load. Damian was stuck with the heavier metal, but kept apace. She laughed as he tried to keep up. The grass tickled her ankles as she pushed harder and harder, enjoying the air pressing soothingly on her tired body. Perhaps a nap would be in order before it was time to scout that night. She pounced on him from behind, locking her arms around his neck and pushing herself onto his back. He wavered before grasping her legs. The piggy-back ride lasted for about five seconds before Damian kneeled down and Josephine slid off on the grass. She lay on her back and stretched out her arms. Damian did the same. Her knees were in the air, forming a triangle with her leg, but they fell over when she turned to Damian, head propped up on an elbow.

"Don't you just love the weather this morning?"

His arms were behind his head, eyes closed. "Yes, but you may jinx it by saying that."

She flattened on the lawn and made a grass angel. "No, nature feels god this morning."

Damian sat up and looked her over. "Maybe we should get back," his eyes drifted to the veranda.

"Oh, but this feels so good." She kept massaging the ground with her limbs.

"Come on," he lifted her by the arm and the two went inside.

They edged into the kitchen. The lights were off, but the midday sun lit the room well enough; it had a light blue glow of the reflection of the darker paint. The island had some fruit set out. Damian grabbed two water glasses and started filling them. Josephine picked up some produce and started to chew.

"What do you think we'll find tonight?" She asked between chomps. Her bottom lips dribbled with amber juice.

Damian looked behind him. The water was still filling. "I don't know," he shrugged. The glasses filled and he handed one to her. "Perhaps we will be lucky and catch a transition between the Italians. They have been quiet lately."

She nodded ad took another bite. A hand motioned to the food. "Have some fruit."

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to keep up your strength," she said with raised eyebrows, teasingly.

"Let's go to the Bat Cave."

"What for?" Her mouth full of apple. He could barely comprehend it.

"I want to see what you've been working on." His voice fell an octave. "All of your _secrets_."

"Hmm…" She smiled. "That sounds like fun."

Alfred walked in. His eyes were puffy and his face a bid bland.

"Alfred, what are you doing up? I told you to go and lay down," berated Josephine. She put down her apple and held his arm.

Alfred brushed her away. "I am fine, Miss Kane. I've rested and I must finish my work."

"Allred," said lower, her eyes met his deeply. "Is there something wrong? You would tell me wouldn't you?"

He patted her hand. "Of course. You have nothing to fear. Now, please let me get on with my chores. I must put away this morning's dishes. Mater Wayne just left for Wayne Enterprises."

"So he isn't going to be back?"

"He will be back in the evening…unless he falls asleep during a meeting again." His eyes glinted mischievously.

Josephine grinned at Damian. "We wouldn't want your Dad to be too exhausted. He might snooze on the job."

"Then the birds would have to take care of everything," he added. But the smile dropped from his face a moment after stating it. He should not speak against his father that way. It was disrespectful. He stepped back.

Josephine's attention went back to Alfred. "Please take care of yourself, Alfred. Where would we be without you?"

Alfred turned to leave. "Fine, I will go back and lie down. Believe me you would all be lost without me." He waved a lazy hand as he exited. Josephine shook her head, eyes closed.

"I love that man." She bit in deep into the apple. Her hand lazily waved towards the door. "Come on; let's see what I have for tonight."

The two ventured down into the Cave. There was always that nifty secret passageway behind the silver with two poles to slide down. They took them and ended at the bottom where they lifted down to the floor level. A deep rumbling sounded in the Cave. A motorcycle navigated onto the floor and approached them. "Hey Navy, how are you boy?" The blue motorcycle rumbled and beeped in code. "That bad? I visit you all the time." He beeped more aggressively. "What? Don't start with me not being here all the time…"

Damian wandered over to the secret compartment near the glass case of old costumes. He pressed a button and a keyboard slid out from the wall. His hand skidded over the keys, unknowing about how to unlock them. He turned back to find Josephine petting the bike. "Phiney, a little help here."

He got up from her crouch, leaving Navy. "Oh…yeah, I'm coming." She approached. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. She looked back at him. He was still looking at her. "Don't look," she chided.

He obeyed her command and the scrolls of paperwork were unlocked. She fished through them, glancing through piles of designs from the past years. Some were in progress, some not, but all of them were important.

"Where are the ones for the glider?" he asked.

Josephine glanced off in thought. Her eyes focused on an imaginary point in the room, but she then snapped back. "Oh, they're with it. I left them when I was working on it."

She closed the vault and headed over to another part of the cave with a smaller room. Some of her designs were unashamedly pinned on the walls, blue and white combined to make scientific discoveries courtesy of Josephine Kane.

"Shouldn't you put these in the vault as well? What if they get taken?"

"Who's going to take them – Bruce? He wouldn't mass produce them. They're my designs. Besides, he has Lucius Fox." She opened her arms when the product was revealed. "Here it is."

The contraption was a simply glider, one that would be used on canyons, but knowing Josephine, the model was have some special qualities to it. It was blue, naturally, and had a foot handle bar, but no front bar. Damian cocked his head and moved closer to it. In place were two metal coils attached at the wings. They hung off insignificantly.

"Are these streamers?"

"No, they're something I came up with. Metallic guiders. See when I wear my suit, I will have magnetic cuffs – like handcuffs – only thinner and make me look less like a criminal. When the glider is in motion, I can make the coil wrap around my wrists to hold me up – "she gestured to it, "When I'm in the air, I can direct it, but I can detach myself midflight and it homes to a safe hiding place until I need it again. Neat, huh?"

Damian watched her eyes sparkle with admiration for her creation. She got so excited over the littlest things. He was a fair try at understanding technology and fixing necessary things like engines or weaponry, but inventing? He couldn't do that. He left it up to Josephine, who was doing a fine job of it. He smiled. "You're amazing, Phiney," fully meaning it.

She grinned widely. "Thanks. Want to see anything else? This is really the only thing I've been working on at the moment. Been busy with other things."

Speaking of which, he asked, "How are plans going?"

"Plans for….oh, St. Magdalene." St Magdalene was Josephine's chosen charity. Every child of the elite had to be involved in the community somehow. Since they were so privilege, volunteer work was a must for any child of a producer of millions – in her case, billions. She didn't care though. She was happy to do it. St. Magdalene was a halfway house for young women from less than satisfactory circumstances. It provided shelter and job training. Josephine liked the facility. The people there were genuinely nice and were good to the girls there. She tried her best not to be pictured on the wall or any part of the facility; she didn't like the attention too much. Giving felt good when she could be masked. It was better that way. She noticed that most of the kids gave a lot of money to their charities or threw galas to raise money. Both of which donated no time whatsoever to the cause. She couldn't help but feel a little disappointed in them. They could do so much with what they had. If only they could feel the reward.

"I might visit there tomorrow. You know, help out some of the girls. They got some new entries so I guess I should welcome them as their patron." She said the word uneasily. Her body tightened, but she shook it off. "So, what will we do next? Give Navy a bath? He needs one."

"Leave it to you, to call it something other than a thing."

"What, I like to think of him as an artificial presence. He's smarter than a human, yet had the characteristics of a dog: the perfect companion for Blue Jay." Her hands fixed on her hips and she smiled broadly. "Now where did that bucket and rag go?"

Damian watched after her as she went in search for her bath supplies. He secretly adores Navy, thinking he was in fact, her greatest creation. Something like that took three years to make, but for a teenager to complete was almost impossible. There was never a dull person who hung around Bruce Wayne. But she was by far, the most important to him.


	11. Flying & Falling

…**I don't have any excuse other than I was seriously side tracked and lost interest in the story. But, it's been bugging me that I haven't continued it. I also feel bad for the people who stop to read this and really want it to continue. To those people I say thank you so much for your support. And with this chapter I want to ask the question if anyone is serious about my continuing this. You can review or PM me, but I would really like to know the interest level. I want to finish this, but it's going to take time. Again, thanks to those who want more.**

Batman crouched over the side of Gotham's famous clock tower. Being the tallest building in Gotham, it provided an excellent viewpoint. His cross face sneered at the trouble brewing below. The shadows cloaked the rest of his body armor; only the white shields over his eyes and his chin could bask under the glow of moonlight. He stood when satisfied and walked toward his two companions.

"Spread out over this side of the city is the mob's hit men. Falcone. They have been sent to kill the mayor on a ransom call. Don't let any of them outside this end. Scour every section," he warned in his deep voice.

"How many are there?" asked Blue Jay.

"It's difficult to tell but scanners state that there could be as many as twenty, maybe more. The two of you can handle it." He looked from her to his son. He turned to leave.

"What are you going to do?" asked Robin.

"I'm going to take care of some personal business with the Riddler. His parole hasn't been going exactly as planned lately. I'm going to see what I can do about it." He leapt off the building and fly out over the city, dark wings spread. Blue Jay watched him go almost poignantly. Only a few more days and her invention could manage that. She tugged on the head scarf. The long navy cloth hung loosely around her head; the two strip ends rested just below her chest. She preferred this to a hooded cape. It was easier to remove, and left her freer to fight, but also hiding her hair, which was tied back in a tight bun.

"You were having nightmares again, weren't you?" she asked when Batman had left to scour the city. Damian looked down, pretending to watch over the citizens, but Josephine knew him too well. "I didn't want to say anything earlier because I thought you might tell me eventually, but when you didn't I thought I'd ask." He said nothing. "Don't lie to me," she said gently. Her hand touched his bicep. "I know you like to keep certain things to yourself, but we've been pretty much honest with each other about everything. Can't you tell me?"

Damian leaned into her touch. "If I promise to tell you later will you not mention it until I'm ready?"

Josephine thought for a second. He would tell her. He wasn't lying. He never lied to her about anything. She pulled away. "Okay, I don't mean to pry – "

"You're not prying." He looked at her. "I…appreciate it, more than you know. It's nice to have someone who cares. Let's not talk about that right now." He climbed the building next to them to examine the borders around them. "How about we…make this into a game?"

Josephine perked up. "A game? Is the great Damian Wayne actually suggesting something fun?"

"I will forget that remark if you agree to it."

"Alright, what are the terms?"

"The first to takedown at least ten henchmen and gets back here is the winner."

"What's our prize?"

"I don't know. If I win…I get to ride on your glider first."

"And if I win?"

"Ask me anything you want."

Josephine thought hard about her desire. What would be fun to see Damian undertake? Ah hah. "Make me dinner. That would be a thing to see."

"Dinner? Are you sure about that? I can't do anything in that department."

"Yes. It'll be entertaining either way." Her eyes sparkled.

"It is a pact. Meet back here when it time."

Blue Jay nodded and ran off in one direction while Robin ran in the other. She leapt off a building, tucking her legs into her chest and landed feet first onto the next, somersaulting to avoid injury. She repeated this feat over and over until she was near the dock, entering the dilapidated walls of what used to be Arkham City. Now the area had been cleaned up to reside in. But, the bulldozed wall had been badly wrecked and bits still held at the base as a cruel reminder of the events passed.

Blue Jay charged over the buildings until the wide watery plague came into view. She neared the police department and stood on a building with it in sight. Unfortunately, the depot was a decoy. A new one was built towards the heart of the city, whilst this old one was left for use of a few specialized cops in case that the new one because too full and extra space was needed for temporary prisoner hold. This was only the case with mass arrests like what they were doing: mobs. Then, around the docks were where Falcone's men usually hung around. It was his shipping yard. Obvious, yes, but the men were not known for their brightness.

She scoped out a few standing near a loading bin. They were festooned out in their tank shirts, knitted face masks and long black wear. She removed a shruiken from her belt and threw it at one of their heads. He fell to the concrete clutching his head in the fetal position.

"What the hell was that?!" yelled one.

"Over there!" shouted the next. He pointed to an obscure area in the darkness. Blue Jay shook her head. They never knew. That was one of the perks of the job. Sometimes it could be entertaining.

While the man was still down, she took her chance. Blue Jay swooped in from above and took down another man, stomping on his head to knock him out. Almost as soon as she'd finished with him, another swung a punch but she ducked and elbowed him between the shoulder blades. He cried out, running into a wall. The one on the floor stood up and charged. She dodged, coming in contact with two more men. She placed a hand on either of their shoulders and flipped over them, landing on her palms. With a solid kick from both legs, the two fell to the floor. She performed a quick double takedown for them. Unfortunately, she took a blow from another man to the jaw. A splitting pain erupted in her mouth, blinding her with tears. She raked a hand across her eyes, then spat out the blood from her punctured tongue. She gritted her teeth, revealing red dyed teeth. Springing across, she delivered a hard punch to the head on the man and sent him tumbling to the floor, head lolling to the side.

Blue Jay cracked her knuckles. "Five down. Five to go."

Something cracked down the street. Her eyes flicked to the source. She moved quietly near a dank dark alleyway. There was nothing there but a garbage dump and a mess of flies fluttering about their midnight snack. The stench was harsh, causing her eyes to tear up slightly. She stood there a moment – thinking that maybe she wasn't imagining things.

Then, a figure scurried out the other side of the alley. It was small, but someone was trying hard not to get caught. That usually screamed trouble. Blue Jay launched a grapple to the roof and propelled up, landing on the roof and scowering for the shadow. It kept running down the street towards some unmarked buildings. Blue Jay jumped off, gliding over the road, but grappling onto an emergency escape before she hit the ground. She swung around to keep up with whomever this person was.

As she neared a slightly better area, the air lessened with the garbage smell and transformed into something sweeter, but mixed with the garbage was still nauseating. She took her eyes off her target to watch for any other of the hit men wandering around. It was at least a shot.

She looked back to find it gone. _Whoever it was, they must have vanished into a building nearby, _she thought.

Almost as soon as she finished her query, a barrage of firing starting up. A bullet whizzed past her ear as she realized that someone had gotten their hands on a machine gun. Now she was the target. Blue Jay dodged them, swinging her body away and detached from the grapple, descending rapidly – but out of range from her assailants. She grabbed onto a nearby railing and swung herself up to the escape, hiding under the poorly constructed stairwell until the men had stopped.

"Where'd she go?"

"What the hell was that?"

"Blue Jay, you moron! Who did you think we were shooting at?"

"Well I didn't know if it was Robin or not…"

"Ugh, dumbass!"

More than one voice. That meant more points. _Perfect_. She heard the familiar clinking of reloading guns. If she was going to attack, now would be the opportunity. She dangled outside the stairwell and began ascending carefully so that they couldn't hear her. They knew she wouldn't have run away so easily, but it was always difficult to guess what the brainless henchmen knew sometimes. Occasionally it was a miracle that some could zip up their own fly without injuring themselves.

Blue Jay reached the top, where some men were still grappling with their weapons. Others had them resting on their shoulders, ready for an onslaught. They would have to be the first to go. One walked near the edge where she hung; her fingers tensed as he approached, begging that he not see her or she would be killed.

Fortunately, his gaze surveyed straight towards the docks, completely missing her altogether. She was too low for him to spot. And thankfully he walked away before she could adjust, or make a sound. But it gave her an idea.

The other men resided on the other side of the roof. This one seemed to be the only prepared – perhaps the leader? If that be the case, then her training foretold a victory for her not only in completing her mission, but seeing her foster brother cooking. She smiled at the vision. When the leader approached again, he was going down.

Her arm swept over the ledge knocking the man off his feet and sent rolling off the building; it happened so fast he didn't have time to cry out for help. The others walked along in the cold night, unnoticed that their comrade was gone.

"It's freezing out here," commented one.

Blue Jay rolled over the ledge and crawled to where a vent curved out from the roof. She held a stance there, waiting to for another to approach her and she might take him down similarly. Shruikens were in short supply in her belt. She forgot to reload from her previous venture. There were only two left. Hopefully, she wouldn't need them, but she relinquished one from her belt, planning to distract a man whilst she took out the rest. An idea sprung to mind to accompany the feat. She dislodged the bow from her back, clicked it – the arms sprung out – and strung the bow quickly. It would not take long at all to gain the guns from the men. She screwed in the arrows from her belt –packed in halves: heads and tails. Loading one into her bow, she aimed at one of the men with the gun swinging carelessly from her arm. She aimed right where the tendon would be – and shot.

"Jesus Christ!" shouted the men as the arrow pierced the skin and sent him flying near the edge, gun clattering to the floor. A gunshot went off and coincidentally shot one of his men in the leg. He cried out as well and went down.

Blue Jay threw the shriuken at another man's head, sending him crashing to the ground, hands cupping his ears. She relinquished another arrow into another man's arm, impairing his shooting as well. Bruce never went against this cruelty. She was a fair shot and could aim just where it would hurt enough, but not do any permanent damage. Besides, it was her or them. It wasn't like she was _killing_ them.

While some rolled on the floor, she seized her chance and clicked the bow back in place. And climbed over the vent and threw herself at the men. One was not harmed at all and he was the first to go. She dodged a gun swing at her. The butt narrowly missed her shoulder. Had that been hit, she would be in trouble. She kicked a knee in and as he feel forward, her knee sent him backward – blood dribbled out his nose. An arrow mimed man went for a shoulder, but she exerted a dodge and elbowed his back. It did not bring him down. He was stronger. Then, he got in a punch to her chest. She flew back, landing on her rump – stars temporality occupied her vision. Even so, she stood. The man lunged towards her again.

"Get back here, bitch!"

She slipped to the side and used her bow to crash it on his head. He blacked out, landing with a thud. She turned to the man on the ground she originally hit with the shruiken. He appeared to have blacked out as well. She must have hit him harder than she thought. All that was left was the first guy with an arrow in his arm; he cowered in the corner over the ledge, murmuring things she couldn't hear. A hand went to his throat and pushed him near the edge.

"What does Falcone want? What is he planning?" She asked forcefully.

"P-please….don't hurt me!" The man looked like he was going to wet his pants. He winced when he spotted the long drop to the alley below. It was not pretty.

"I think I already did. Tell me what I want to know and I won't hurt you _more_." Her grip tightened on the fat throat. He made a choking noise, gritting his teeth.

"Okay, okay, I'll tell you everything!"

"Sounds great," she said in her lowered voice.

He shook his head rapidly. But, he didn't say anything. He only kept staring at her. The oddest sensation washed over her. Something didn't feel right. It was like being outside her body like in a film, a terrible awareness.

"What – " She didn't finish her thought because the breath inside flew out of her. A piercing pain coursed in her side, spreading coldness that crept its way up her body and into her head. She blinked several times, her vision blurring. Darkness crept around the edges. At the focus was the man with the arrow, smiling wickedly, but it wasn't at her. The muscles in her hand relaxed against the throat until it slipped away altogether. A pulse thickened. The drumbeat increase din her head and soon all she could hear was something reminiscent of a percussion ensemble thumping constantly.

Another pain split her side. She hissed out. Peering down, cold metals tuck into her hip. The blade slipped out painfully as she noticed that the other henchman was still awake and now stabbing her with his secret weapon.

The drowsiness began to overthrow her consciousness. She wobbled slightly, but two hands held her up. The man in front of her moved aside, still hugging the arm she shot. She was guided near the edge. Everything inside her screamed to do something, to fight it, but the blackening edges widened across her eyes, making everything dreamlike. She had no power. Like a doll, she was helpless.

"Should we shoot her?" A voice said.

"No, she's done for. I'll take care of it."

Then, something extraordinary happened. She was flying. She imagined herself like a real Blue Jay flying across the skies. The pit in her stomach lighten with the weightlessness. It was almost magical. Surreal.

But there was something wrong. She was not going up. Not going anywhere near the sky. The ground beckoned closer and closer. Nothing could be done but welcome the cold hard garbage container that broke her fall.

Finally, she blacked out.

Not long after the fall did a figure emerge from the door to the shop near the garbage. She brushed a strand of hair back as the wind picked up. Turning to go back in, she spied the fallen girl slumped over the garbage.

"No…" she breathed nearing the girl.

Using two fingers, a pulse was taken. Positive. She hooked two arms under the girl and slid her off the garbage and onto the floor. She was out cold. The woman investigated the body for wounds, seeing blood over her mid waist. In her examinations, the woman ignored the creaking of the opening door.

"Help me get her inside. She needs medical attention." But when she gazed up at her counterpart, a weapon glinted in her hand. A wild expression exploded on her face. She lunged at the girl, bringing the knife down on her. At least, it would have had the woman not interfered.

"Harley no!" She grabbed the wrist holding the knife and pressed the pressure point, releasing the knife and throwing it away from them. She held her around the waist and away from Blue Jay. "We've been over this. You can't."

Tears strewn down Harleen Quinzel's face as she buckled in the embrace. Choked sobs broke forth. "I want him to suffer! He deserves it for what he did!" She screamed.

"Shhh," her friend stroked her hair like a child. "I know you feel like that. But it isn't the way to do it. You're beyond that." She stopped stroking and held her away from the girl. "Go back to bed. I can take care of her." She led her back to the door, but her expression went dark. "Don't go near her again. If you harm her, it can destroy everything I have worked for."

Harley lingered at the open door. Her eyes landed on Blue Jay and sneered. "You think you've gotten away, little bird."

"Go Harley," said the woman.

Harley disappeared into the shop, leaving the woman alone with her charge.

Her vision was still blackened at the edges, but the center was colored. It was blurry, but she made out an image of a girl with strawberry blonde hair tied back standing next to her. Her face was masked by the inept vision, but her size suggested she was younger. Suddenly, Josephine's arm began to sting. She moaned slightly as pressure was added. "Mmm…what are you putting on me?"

The girl touched the arm again with a deft hand and dotted the arm with some kind of salve. The air was cool on her arm form the moisture. She breathed a sigh. "That feels better."

"I'm not supposed to talk to you," whispered the girl, a little too loud for someone who wasn't interested in conversation.

"What happened?"

"Please sit back. Don't try to get up." Blue Jay lay back against the table, giving in to her advice. Her side felt tight. It was like something was strung inside, holding it together. Her hand slipped to it. Part of her uniform had been cut away where the feeling was. Her finger pads touched the spot, feeling a weave of stitches.

"Can I at least thank the person who helped me?" She stared quizzed at the young healer. "A name might suffice."

"I'm supposed to make you better. How is your sight?" Asked the girl who wasn't supposed to be talking.

Josephine blinked several times. Slowly it clarified. She was in a dark room, only lit by the overhead lights which were dingy and not well looked after. It looked like a cellar. Maybe somewhere under the shops. She couldn't guess. Suddenly, a thought hit her, vision, eyes…

"My mask!" Clue Jay touched the plate over her eyes. "Did someone take it off?"

The girl shrunk away from her for a moment. Her eyes went wide. She realized that this girl couldn't have been more than eleven. And she was being entrusted to take care of her. Who was she?

"No one took it off that I saw. But I was upstairs. They told me to come down when you were waking up."

"They? Who are they?"

"My name is Rose," said the girl. "I study healing with botany."

Blue Jay did not doubt that the comment was meant to draw her attention away the subject of her hosts, but she complied with the pleasantry. "I'm the Blue Jay."

"I know," the girl admitted shyly, but slightly awed. "I know all about you. You help people with Batman."

"Yeah, but how did I get here?" She rubbed her head, feeling satisfied with the scarf tucked over her head.

"Can I finish with you?" She held the bowl with water in it. "I was told to do this and then come back. You're not supposed to be asking questions."

"You don't sound like you really want to abide by those rules."

The girl wrung out the rag and started to smooth it over a cut. "Well it isn't every day that a hero just falls outside your apartment."

"Hm…I guess not." Blue Jay relaxed a little more, allowing the water to calm her.

"I mean, you're a girl out there fighting all the bad men around. I think that's pretty admirable."

Blue Jay smiled at her. "Thank you," she said lightly. "That really does mean a lot to me." She glanced over the girl's face. She had a bruise down her neck, but her jacket was pulled up so no one could see it. "Where do you live? With your parents? Foster parents?"

"I...live with a woman who took me in." She wrung out the cloth. "You see, my Dad used to get drunk a lot," she swallowed, "and he beat me up a lot. He…hurt my Mom too. But she died. I was left with him. That was when I started coming here." She dotted the wound. "I felt safe and the owner liked me. But she found out about my Dad. He really hit me bad one day. I ran away and never want to go back there, so I'm staying here. She pretty much adopted me."

"Who is this woman?"

"If I tell you, you have to promise not to turn her in."

"Why would I do that?" Blue Jay inquired.

"She's a convict. Some people don't like that she lives around here, but if they find out that I'm here too they'll put me back with my Dad and she could face a lot of danger with the law." Her eyes pleaded with her. "Please promise. You understand that don't you?"

"I... suppose I do." She spoke more confident. "You can trust me. I swear."

"Pamela Isley."

Blue Jay said nothing. Poison Ivy. She was in Poison Ivy's hideout. Wherever that may be. In fact, it was hiding in plain sight somewhere in the city.


End file.
